


Harry Potter - The Boy Who Asked Questions

by Gadaxar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Dursley Family Bashing (Harry Potter), Gen, Golden Quartet, Good Slytherins, Harry Potter Swears, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Mentor Severus Snape, Potioneer Harry Potter, Sarcastic Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry Potter, like a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadaxar/pseuds/Gadaxar
Summary: Everyone knew Harry James Potter to be the Boy-Who-Lived. Except, of course, for the boy himself.But what if Harry started to ask questions?Questions like: Why am I constantly in danger? And: Who keeps putting me in bloody deathtraps?!Let's see the answers for ourselves, shall we?
Comments: 64
Kudos: 503





	1. Why the hell are these people taking "care" of me?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic, so criticism and advice are welcomed!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summary of Harry's situation so far, and the zoo incident. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter has been rewritten, as I had ideas for Harry's character making decisions due to motivation I hadn't described in this little chapter. So for my future plans to make sense, I had to stuff a bit more rationalisation in here. Got it? Cool.

Harry James Potter would have liked a quiet life.

Well, that wasn't _strictly_ true. He always did like a bit of mischief and enjoyed causing his classes to erupt into chaos, however indirectly he could manage it. Granted, these opportunities were few and far between, seeing as ~~his cousin~~ his tormentor, Dudley Dursley, seemed to make it his life's goal to separate Harry from anyone he might have made friends with. By the end of the year, any students were in one of two groups: Dudley's Gang, who spent most of their time "Harry Hunting" which consisted of chasing Harry until he fell over or couldn't run, then beating the everloving hell out of him until they got bored and moved on, or Everyone Else, who ignored Harry to make sure that _they_ weren't the next target of Dudley's "Hunts".

Of course, Harry knew that no one in the staff cared enough to stop Dudley. Hell, they didn't look into the fact that for the first month of primary, Harry didn't respond to "Harry", but _did_ respond to Dudley calling him "Freak". Never mind the fact that a child was only responding to being called a freak, and that said child had honestly _forgotten_ his own name! Harry knew this had happened, and knew that none of the teachers cared, as they'd been told by ~~his aunt and uncle~~ the people he lived with that Harry was a delinquent, a menace, and a thief, so making up that he had forgotten his name seemed natural behaviour such an ill-mannered, attention-seeking child.

Those little lies also had the added benefit of explaining where all those bruises, cuts, scrapes, and burn marks came from. He was always picking fights after all, why wouldn't he have marks like that? Never mind that no one ever saw these fights, nor did anyone else take part in them apart from Harry, but who were they to question the Dursleys? After all, they were pillars of the community, a hard-working family who had taken in an orphaned child, who had been raised by a drunkard and his whore of a wife before their 'unfortunate' death in a car crash. 

Yet, despite all of this, Harry didn't really mind. But it wasn't because he had accepted this, that he thought this was simply how inferior children like him were treated because he _knew_ it wasn't. He knew he was smarter and faster than Dudley because numerous test scores and stopwatches had proved he was simply better than Dudley in those regards. But while Dudley was rewarded with presents, ice cream and £10 notes, his 'rewards' were sessions with the belt, followed by being locked in that damned cupboard without the meagre table scraps he could spare for himself.

And _that_ was when it clicked, that they didn't hate Harry because he was worse than Dudley, or that he had less to contribute or any other reason that could have possibly made sense. No, they hated Harry, simply because he dared to exist in their sight, that he hadn't just shrivelled up and died when it was convenient for them. So, because they couldn't get rid of him, they simply used him as an outlet for all the work they didn't want to do, and for all the frustration they accumulated over the day.

He was still embarrassed that it took him until the age of five to figure that one out.

So, naturally, he despised them for everything they did, everything they made him do, every meal he had to cook while barely getting a scrap of it due to Petunia's constant watch over him, every test he had to fail due to Dudley's incompetence, every scar on his body from Vernon's constant punishments for the smallest of crimes, and everyone else who just stood back and watched. But he wasn't stupid enough to think he could do anything about it. Yet.

He waited, going day-to-day looking for any way out, nabbing forgotten pound coins in the crevices of sofa cushions, from underneath cabinets, and in one case, from under Dudley's pillow when one of his teeth had fallen out. Saving it all for a rainy day when he could finally make a run for somewhere else, away from the Dursleys who had tried to crush him under their boot, away from the neighbourhood that had turned a blind eye, and far, far away, from that damned cupboard. What he was going to do afterwards wasn't strictly defined, but he knew he'd figure something out. Hopefully.

But, as all Harry could do for now was play the waiting game, the main thing keeping him from completely losing it was a healthy dose of sarcasm that only he could hear. Case in point: Dudley's 11th birthday.

********

"36?! But last year I had 37!" Dudley had screeched out. How he hadn't deafened someone by this point, Harry would never know.

"Yes Duddykins," Petunia was placating the lump. "But we'll get you 2 more presents on the way back from the zoo."

"So I'll have..." Dudley paused. Dear God, Dudley doing basic maths? We'd be here all day! Someone best step in.

"You'll have 38 presents, Dudley," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Which is 1 more than last year."

"Oh. Good." Dudley had finally finished ranting, thank god, but that allowed Vernon to start.

"Where's my coffee boy!?" Vernon shouted from the dining room.

"Be right there sir," Harry replied. Yes, drown yourself in caffeine and high blood pressure, fat man. Lord knows it'll do the world a favour. It will be a slow, but sure death, and I'll be right here to serve you the instrument of your expiration.

Okay, maybe Harry was being a bit melodramatic. So what? Anyone would be if all they had was the Dursleys for company. He wondered briefly if this is what sensory deprivation felt like, before realizing that Vernon was still talking.

"-you'll be on your best behaviour, Boy, otherwise you'll be in the cupboard for a week!" Vernon paused to catch his breath. "We can't leave you alone in the house, far too many valuables in one place for your grubby little hands, and Mrs.Figg still has that broken leg. So we'll be taking you to the zoo with Dudley, and you won't do _anything_ to ruin _his_ birthday! That includes any of your _freakishness!_ Understand!? " Vernon finished his rant, his face turning plum purple.

"Yes sir, of course, sir," Harry said, trying to convey being cowed. It had worked, as Vernon looked disgustingly pleased with himself. Congrats, you've made a 10-year old scared of you. What do you want, a prize? A cookie? A trophy made of cookies? Now how would that work? Questions for later. 

As Harry got his ~~rags~~ clothes ready, he realized something. He was going to the same place as Dudley for a change. This was surprising, seeing as the only place he was in on Dudley's birthday was at Mrs Figg's house, which was nice, even though it reeked of cats and dust. Although, dead silence was preferable to the Dursleys, so maybe he just had low standards. Then again, this new thing was with Dudley. He had a knack for ruining seemingly unruinable things. 

********

After a thankfully uneventful drive, Harry arrived at the zoo and took notice of a Boa Constrictor behind a glass panel. Dudley and his rat-faced friend, Piers Polkiss were bothering it. You'd think they could make it do the can-can on command the way Dudley's sausage fingers were pounding on the glass. Now wasn't _that_ an odd image.

"Leave it alone Dudley, it's probably sleeping," Harry said wearifully. "It isn't going to move." Dudley looked miffed with Harry before Piers drew his attention at an ape exhibit. Yes, be with your kind for a change and leave a decent society in peace. 

Harry was alone now, and so tried to strike up a conversation with the snake through the glass. He'd realized he could do this during one of his many afternoons in the rose garden, as Petunia seemed determined to have it arranged perfectly while putting no actual effort into it herself, a garden snake came through. Harry had tried to tell the snake to shove off while shooing it away with his hand, but then the snake had **talked back in perfect English.** 'Great,' Harry had thought dismally, 'I've finally gone mad. Still, better than the Dursleys' I suppose.'

Back in the present, however, the Constrictor's eyes shot open, looked at Harry, and said " _A ssspeaker? Here?"_ "Present and accounted for," replied Harry. "Hopefully you'll be a better conversationalist now the shock has worn off." He wondered why no one else talked to snakes, they always seemed so surprised when he did. Then again, it could have been that he was making these conversations up in his head. He was, after all, barking mad.

 _"No, hatchling, I'm afraid I won't be."_ The Constrictor, mentally rechristened as Beau in Harry's mind said. "Why not?" Harry asked. Beau then pointed to a sign that read 'Bred in Captivity - Brazil' "Ah," said Harry. "Shame. Still, perhaps you could tell me about your da-"

"PIERS, LOOK!"

Before Harry could react, the lump of fat in human disguise ran with surprising speed towards the enclosure, knocking Harry to the floor and pounding the glass panel with his fists, attempting to get it to move. Beau hissed his displeasure and laid back down.

Harry was pissed, not just because he'd knocked to the floor, but because he'd stolen his only good conversation in months! 'Fine,' thought Harry, 'if he wants to see it so much, he can see it up close and personal!'

Suddenly, as if by magic, the glass panel disappeared and Dudley fell right into the enclosure. Beau shot a look of pure gratitude at Harry. _'Thank you hatchling! Brazil, here I come!'_ Harry saw Beau slithering through the crowds, scaring passers-by by hissing at their feet. Harry wished the best for Beau, though thought he'd most likely be caught by the zoo security.

********

After the zoo incident, Vernon promptly drove everyone back to 4 Privet Drive, before locking Harry in the cupboard without dinner. Harry wasn't sure why he'd been locked away before he cooked dinner, as no-one else ever did. Then once the greasy smell of takeaway fish and chips started to leak through the walls, Harry realized something. Not only was he the only one who _would_ cook, but by this point, was the only one who _could_ cook.

_Idiots._


	2. Who the hell is this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor appears. This'll be fun. Hopefully.

Harry wondered if his so-called 'freakishness' was the reason that the glass disappeared. Just like it was his 'freakishness' that made his hair grow back after an abysmal haircut from Petunia. Or when he was starving after 4 days in the cupboard, when the door unlocked by itself. Christ, did he get a hiding for that one! Come to think of it, a lot of odd stuff happened around Harry. 

However, it seemed his little disappearing act wouldn't be the end of it, as when Harry got the post the day after, he found a letter addressed to _himself._

As quick as he could before he could even think of why someone would bother sending a letter to him, he grabbed it tightly and dashed back to the cupboard. Closing his door as fast as he could without making a sound, he examined it closer. After noting the rather odd address, (who knowingly addresses a letter to _The Cupboard under the Stairs_ , honestly!) he tore it open and found something rather peculiar indeed.

An invitation. To a school. A _wizarding_ school. That was the oddest thing about it, nevermind the fact that they were awaiting an owl. An _owl?_ Whoever sent this must have been barmy.

********

Soon after, he heard the front door opening, then heard Vernon hollering at whatever poor sap it was this time. He was attempting to tune it out, as per usual, until he heard Vernon say "- don't need any more of **your kind** around here, we're perfectly fine on our own!" Now _that_ got Harry's attention, as he hadn't heard Vernon say that in years, but it was always when something 'freakish' happened.

Harry burst through his cupboard door to see Vernon, plum purple as usual, and a very odd person outside. Dressed in completely black robes and shoes, with pitch-black, greasy hair, accompanied by a crooked nose and a sneer that conveyed pure disdain in a way Harry almost envied, was another of 'his kind'.

"Ah, Mr Potter," the mystery man sneered "you'll have to come with me." Harry, of course, objected to this. Better the devil he knew after all. "And why on earth would I have to do that? Who even are you?" The mystery man must have known he wasn't just going to go with _any_ maniac dressed like the grim reaper. A _certified_ maniac dressed like the grim reaper, however... 

"Mr Potter," his sneer deepened, "I am to escort you to Diagon Alley, where you will gather your supplies for the upcoming school year, so you may attend Hogwarts. And my name, to you at least, is Professor Snape."

"School supplies!?" Vernon bellowed, already turning his signature plum purple. "We've already sorted the schools, he'll be going to Smeltings, same as Dudley over here!" Snape sighed. "Unfortunately, it is up to your nephew to decide."

Said nephew was currently having his bloody mind blown, for lack of a better term. Not only was the letter legitimate, and better yet, _real,_ but there was a whole school for people like him! Like in those X-Men comics he'd stolen from Dudley! He wasn't the only one with this 'freakishness' in the world! Then logic, ever the mood killer, broke in through a window, assembled the pieces of his mind back into its half-arsed jigsaw, and posed a very good question.

_What's the catch?_

Harry echoed this thought and saw Snape's mouth twist to a smirk and back so fast he barely caught it. 

"The 'catch', is that as Hogwarts is a boarding school, you will be separated from your family until the winter break at earliest. Until then, you will stay in the dorms provided by Hogwarts."

Harry was confused, to say the least. If this professor thought that was the catch, he must not know much about Harry's life. Still, if a break from the Dursleys was supposed to be the 'bad news', he couldn't wait to see was to the 'good news' was.

"Is that it?" Harry asked, almost laughing. "Because frankly, if you think that a vacation from these stupid lumps is your catch, then you must be a terrible deal maker." Now Snape looked properly shocked, though only for a moment.

No one seemed to move after that, or if they did, Harry was ignoring them, favouring instead to gather his belongings from his cupboard, placing everything he owned, which wasn't very much to begin with, haphazardly in a well-worn and falling apart bookbag. Closing the bag and practically leaping through the front door, Harry turned towards the group and observed the looks they were surely giving. Snape, with an impressively neutral expression, and the Dursleys, in all manner of shocked, with Vernon and Dudley staring bug-eyed at Harry as if he'd grown a second head, while Petunia glared at Snape, her lips drawing inward as if she'd been fed nothing but lemons for the last month.

 _No matter,_ Harry thought, _I'll be far away from them if this luck holds. Hogwarts, here I come!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, criticism and advice are always welcomed. Please kudos if you liked it! Or don't, I'm just some words.  
> Ta ta for now!


	3. What is this place?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gringotts: Part 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!

For Merlin's sake, _why_ was Severus given this job? Albus must have known of his feelings towards the boy's father and certainly knew his feelings for the boy's mother. So why him, of all the staff. Minerva, Pomona, Filius, even _Hagrid,_ would have been a better choice of escort.

Granted, the boy had surprised him. His appearance was an almost carbon copy of his late father, except for those emerald eyes. The same as his mothers. It was as if the world itself was trying to get him emotional towards the boy. He had put years of effort into this mask, he wasn't going to toss it away for one child out of hundreds!

Nevertheless, Severus had noted many... peculiar things about the young Mr Potter. Firstly, when he first arrived, he seemed meek and defensive. 'Seemed' being the keyword here, as while it was shown in his body language and mannerisms, his eyes had an inquisitive glint to them. Very hard to notice if you weren't looking for it, but there nonetheless. Secondly, his clothes- well, clothes would be an overstatement- _rags_ would be more accurate, with how many stains, tears, and holes littered them. Not to mention how they were _clearly_ too large for his frame.

Considering the reports on the boy's living conditions seemed to paint him as a pampered prince, something was wrong here. And a niggling feeling in Snape's head was saying that it wasn't deception on the Muggles' end.

********

Harry was unaware of Snape's internal questions, as he was far too busy _losing his bloody mind._ There was a world of people, just like him! His 'freakishness' made a hell of a lot more sense when it was called Magic!

There were tailors, book shops, emporiums, apothecaries, and a wand shop - now _that_ sounded like fun! - hell, there was a bank! A full-on magic bank! He hoped he had enough to buy everything he needed. That brought up an excellent question, did the magic world even take pounds? Or was it gold? Mythril? Oh! Was it a certain type of tokens? _You're rambling you idiot. Stop thinking and start asking._ Good idea, me!

"Professor? Will I have enough money to buy everything I need?" he asked. "Mr.Potter," Snape answered. "we will gather funds for your supplies at Gringotts, the bank in the centre there. Afterwards, we will visit Madam Malkins' for school robes, Flourish & Blotts for your books, the Apothecary for potion equipment and ingredients, Ollivanders for your wand, and finally Eeylops Owl Emporium, for your owl. Before you ask, I know the ingredients and owl aren't on the required list, but I highly recommend them. They will assist you greatly throughout the year. Is that answer satisfactory?" "Uh, yeah it is, thanks," Harry said, rather intelligently. To be fair, he wasn't expecting such a detailed response. He never really got one from the Dursleys' after all.

********

Entering Gringotts, Harry saw goblins manning the desks and briskly walking through the corridors with mounds of paperwork. Snape had given him the basic description of goblins before they entered, but hearing about something and seeing something were two very different beasts. Snape walked up to the teller, Harry following along, still unsure of what to say. The goblin finished writing something, most likely a signature given the nature of banks, before leaning over and looking at the two wizards.

"And you are?" the goblin asked, looking towards Harry. "Harry Potter, sir," Harry replied. "And I've come to make a withdrawal."

"I assume you have your key?" Key? "Apologies, I have it here," said Snape. The goblin looked over the key, then pressed it onto a small pedestal, which seemed to morph around it. After a second or two, the key was raised from the stone, and the goblin took it back.

"This seems to be in order," said the goblin "though I assume you know that, as you are not Mr Potter's magical guardian, you will not be able to accompany him to his vault."

"Of course," Snape replied to the goblin and turned towards Harry. "Keep this key safe, and on your person. It will be used to access your vault."

Harry nodded, still getting used to the fact he had a 'vault' to access.

"Gorkus!" the goblin teller called to a nearby goblin. "Escort Mr Potter to his vault. He has his key."

"Follow me, Mr Potter," Gorkus instructed. Harry followed.

********

Gorkus took Harry through a _very long_ corridor before opening a door, revealing what looked like an odd combination of mineshaft and roller-coaster. Gorkus took a seat near the front, Harry taking the centre most seat.

Suddenly, the cart lurched forward at high speed, the force of it pushing Harry right back to his seat. ' _Hopefully,_ Harry thought as it took yet another sharp turn which left Harry hanging onto the cart for dear life, _not all magic transport is like this.'_

Finally, the cart stopped, leaving Harry quite disorientated, but Gorkus looking as if nothing had moved at all. Gorkus hopped out of the cart, Harry attempting to follow, and finding himself on his face. ' _Well this is embarrassing,'_ his mind supplied, not helping at all.

Harry picked himself up and saw Gorkus holding out his hand.

"Your key, Mr Potter," the goblin requested. "Oh, right, course, h-here," stuttered Harry.

_'Stuttering?! Christ, are you trying to look like an idiot, or is it just natural talent?!'_

_'Shut it you,'_ Harry thought right back, ' _I'm trying to think.'_

_'Don't hurt yourself.'_

_'Git'._

Harry's internal argument was interrupted by the quick *click* of the vault door opening, unveiling large mounds of gold, silver and bronze coins, all taller than himself, leaving Harry with only one coherent thought left in his mind. _How am I supposed to spend all of this?!_

Once Harry had picked his jaw from the floor, he asked: "How much will I need?"

"Fill your pouch with 10 of each to start, afterwards, your pouch will be connected directly to your funds," Gorkus answered. "I should advise you do not lose this pouch, Mr Potter."

 _Duly noted,_ thought Harry. Carrying this many coins at once seemed rather impractical. Harry followed Gorkus' instruction and turned back towards the goblin. "And now?"

"Now, Mr Potter," declared Gorkus, "we have to ensure you that you are, in fact, the rightful heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter."


	4. I'm an heir?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gringotts: Part 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I didn't mean for Gringotts to be this long, but I just had so many ideas I had to get out, and it took waaay longer than I thought so... here!

Harry's mind was racing at that proclamation. Forget racing, his brain was practically going _supersonic_ at this revelation. _I'm an heir? My dad was important? I have an inheritance?! I mean, I assumed the Dursleys' telling of them was complete bollocks, but I didn't expect this for bloody certain!_ And the worst part was, at least for Harry, was that Gorkus had just... said it. Like it wasn't a complete game-changer, as if it had always been an undeniable fact that Harry Potter, of all people, was an heir! A _magical heir_ , for God's sake!

Gorkus, of course, was none the wiser to Harry's world view practically being turned upside down, spun like a top, and then being told to fight rabid piñatas! Gorkus was simply walking along yet another bloody corridor. Harry followed, his legs moving seemingly independent from the brain. Granted, everything was moving independently from the blob of grey matter, as it was about as useful as a chocolate teapot right now.

Finally, Gorkus opened a door and both of them went through. Gorkus offered Harry a chair, then sat in his own across a desk. _Must be his office,_ Harry thought, his frame of mind still a bit dazed, but finally catching up. Gorkus drew a scroll of parchment from a drawer, placed it on the desk.

Gorkus started. "This, Mr Potter, is a test of blood inheritance." He handed Harry a small blade with an especially sharp tip. "Simply prick your finger, then place it on the parchment. The magic within will see any titles and inheritances you should have, among other things."

Harry naturally hesitated, pricking himself with anything was avoided as a hard and fast rule, but he eventually acquiesced. _It's only a test, no one here wants to hurt you,_ he reasoned. After the prick and inevitable bleeding, he placed his finger onto the middle of the blank parchment. It didn't respond for a few seconds, soaking into the paper, before it shot towards all four corners and then started to slither towards the centre of it, before finally filling the scroll with a rather long list of results.

_Full Name:_

_Harry James Potter-Black_

_Born:_

_July 31st, 1980, Godric's Hollow, England_

_Parents:_

_James Fleamont Potter (Father by Birth)_

_Lily Juliana Potter née Evans (Mother by Birth)_

_Sirius Orion Black (Father by Blood-Adoption, August 1st, 1980)_

_Titles:_

_Heir to the Ancient and Noble Family of Potter (By Birth)_

_Heir to the Ancient and Noble Family of Black (By Blood-Adoption)_

Harry's eyes kept widening and widening the further down on the parchment he read. Not only did he finally know his full name, but he also found his parent's names. Definitive proof of his parents, _his magical parents' existence_ was laid before him. Harry must have subconsciously blocked this, taking all this new information about his parentage as fiction rather than fact, but right here, laid on a polished oak desk in a goblin run bank of all things, was undeniable proof. Even though it wasn't that important in the grand scheme of things, it was still satisfying to have proof that the Dursleys were wrong about them. Then again, they were always wrong about _everything,_ but it was nice to have a loose hole sealed up.

However, no one had told him about this Sirius bloke. Also, blood adoption was another mystery but considering the name of it, it must be similar to the test, using blood to further seal a magical contract. He almost fell from his chair when reading that he was an heir to, not one, but two houses. His eyes were straining from having widened so much until Harry read the lower half of the scroll reading:

_Magical Blocks and Compulsions:_

Beg pardon?

Harry's eyes were squinted to fine slits now, ensuring every word of this section was branded onto his long-term memory.

_Magic Core - 75% blocked, James and Lily Potter, May 12th, 1981)_

_Parseltongue - (Failed block, Albus Dumbledore, November 1st, 1981)_

_Parselmagic - (Blocked fully, Albus Dumbledore, November 1st, 1981)_

_Occlumency - (Blocked, Albus Dumbledore, November 1st, 1981, shows signs of damage around 1984 - 1991)_

_Amorfamilia - (Keyed to Albus Dumbledore, November 1st, 1981)_

_Distrust - (Keyed to Slytherin House and Severus Snape, November 1st, 1981, shows signs of heavy damage around 1991)_

Harry wasn't entirely sure who this 'Dumbledore' character is, but he was sure about a few things. Firstly, that he was being manipulated somehow, he'd have to ask someone what Amorfamilia was, and secondly, that this Dumbledore was trying to block his potential before he even started! He was willing to bet his entire trust vault that this newly-revealed _bastard_ was the reason he was put in the Dursley's 'care' in the first place! In fact...

"Gorkus," Harry called. "Have my parents written any will or last testament of any kind?" It was a shot in the dark, but he had heard that sort of terminology from Petunia's poorly written soap operas, so it was better than nothing.

"Yes, Mr Potter," Gorkus replied, one of his eyebrows lifted at the sudden questions posed by the young wizard, "But it has been sealed at the request of your magical guardian."

 _Magical guardian?_ Now Harry's eyebrow had shot upwards, he wanted, needed to know, but very much hoped he was wrong... "And who exactly is my magical guardian?" _Please don't say Dumbledore, please don't be Dumbledore..._

"Your magical guardian is Albus Dumbledore." _GODDAMMIT!_

Gorkus continued, either ignoring or not noticing Harry's internal outrage. "However, what we _can_ do is remove these blocks and compulsions from your person, as well as have an attempt at removing this," he pointed to the page with a particularly sharpened claw, "interesting little peculiarity." 

_What? What is he on about... oh. Oh. Bugger._

_Other Magical Maladies and Afflictions:_

_Horcrux - (Unknowingly placed by Tom Marvolo Riddle, October 31st, 1981)_

"Two questions Gorkus," Harry said, his tone demanding some _honest_ answers for a change, "First, what is Amorfamilia, and second, what is a Horcrux?"

"Amorfamilia", started the goblin, "is an alteration of Amortentia, a love potion, changed to enforce a feeling of familial love, rather than romantic love. Both very effective, but nowhere close to the real thing. Horcruxes, however," he paused, considering his words, "Are extremely dark pieces of magic, requiring a murder and a dark ritual in conjunction to split the maker's very soul into the object. A wizard's foolish attempt at immortality, but effective nonetheless." 

_Great. Fantastic. Wonderful!_

"You were saying about removing these, how quickly can we do this?" Harry inquired.

Gorkus placed his hand over his mouth and began to rub his chin. "The compulsions and blocks we can remove today, but the Horcrux will take years to fully remove, even with yearly appointments-" Harry interrupted. "How about monthly appointments?" He said, a bit more demanding than he meant to be. Gorkus glared at the boy before him, before continuing. "Yearly appointments are the safest option. Any faster would kill you, as the Horcrux has become an integral part of your being. Your parseltongue abilities most likely originate from it, although it is important to stress that you will not lose these abilities upon the removal of this Horcrux." Gorkus finished.

"Right. Okay. Sorry for interrupting, just... a bit stressed right now." Harry confessed. 

Gorkus chuckled. "I have seen older, though perhaps not wiser wizards react much worse, to much more inane problems. Frankly, I'm somewhat relieved you aren't screaming and running through the halls." Gorkus chuckled again, his hand covering his mouth.

"Ah. Okay. Thank you." _That could have been taken a lot worse._

Gorkus composed himself. "Come through the back of my office here, I will summon a Healer to assist you shortly." He slid off his chair, Harry mirroring him. He opened the door, thankfully not at the end of another corridor, and revealed a small room with a hospital-like bed, with shelves of what must be potions surrounding it. The whole room had a sort of sterilised odour to it, similar to the disinfectant he used when he was scrubbing the bathroom for the umpteenth time that day. 

"Mr Potter, I will be heading out to call for a healer to be here shortly," Gorkus informed. "Sit on the bed and don't touch any of the potions. I shall return promptly." Gorkus left the room in a huff, muttering something in a language Harry didn't recognise.

_Well,_ Harry thought as he grinned one of his more devious grins, _whoever this Dumbledore bastard turns out to be will_ _be in for a quite a surprise, won't he?_


	5. Who is Harry Potter, exactly?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape's realisation, Harry's reaction in summary, and Part of Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird that I get really happy when I see people have seen this? And actually like it? wat?  
> Thank you all for the support!

Severus was... intrigued by Potter. To say the least. Every word back from Dumbledore suggested that the boy was looked after well, even pampered on occasion. So _why_ was Potter with the Dursleys? The man, Vernon if he recalled, was unpleasant to talk with if you can even call whatever that altercation was a proper conversation. Then Petunia had appeared from behind the massive lump and it had started to make a sick sort of sense. He had recalled that whenever Petunia Evans appeared during his times with Lily over the summers of their school years, that the day would inevitably sour. It would only make sense for an equally terrible person to be the only kind to stand a marriage with Petunia. Their child seemed to be the subject of their pampering, the boy reaching the same grotesque rotundness as his father.

But then there was Potter. 

Snape's first impression of the boy was that he was as smug, conceited and arrogant as his father before him. Even recalling the memory and seeing the boy's resemblance to his father had made his years of brooding what he could have done, what he _should_ have done to that arrogant bastard flare into a spiral of hatred and loathing for this new Potter. However, Severus Snape was nothing if not logical, and being a Master Occlumens had its clear benefits, one of which the ability to view his memories from a purely objective point of view. And what Severus saw was very troubling. Very troubling indeed.

Potter seemed scared, even subservient to his family, though whether that was an accurate reflection of the boy's feelings or an image he had portrayed himself as, at the very least, for years now. He could barely see through it himself before Potter took notice of him, at which point, his face didn't change, most likely schooled into him by years of practice, but his eyes, those emerald green eyes, they told a different story. Now his own bias wasn't clouding his vision, he could see thoughts, ideas and hopes travelling through the boy's eyes a mile a minute, clear as day. _Who is he? Is he a way out? Why now? Is this because of that letter? Are you my way out?! Please, please, please take me with you!_ Now, these would have been worrying enough, leaving no doubt that _something_ wasn't right at Number 4, Privet Drive.

Progressing through the memory further showed even more signs of, at best, neglect, at worst, abuse. His clothes- well, clothes were an overstatement, they were rags, plain and simple, held together by poorly-done needlework and prayers to whichever deity would listen, not to mention they were far too large for him, billowing out of the boy's frame, almost dragging him down with the amount of loose cloth. His glasses were held together by tape at multiple points, and even then it had seemed as though the boy still couldn't see properly, his eyes squinting to see anything in the distance. His face held no fat whatsoever, leaving his cheekbones practically poking through his skin, a clear sign of malnutrition. His chest and back were concealed by the rags, but it would be safe to assume that the rest of his body followed suit.

Throughout the explanation to Potter, his eyes lit up with recognition. _The letter!_ the boy thought, _it's real! I'm leaving for good!_ Then, something Severus didn't expect. _It's about bloody time someone noticed!_ About time someone noticed? Had nobody else seen or cared for this child? He had to have been seen by someone else by some point, the neighbours at least! Granted, it had taken him a few hours to notice, but that was due to years worth of bias, so how in Merlin's name had no-one seen him and _said anything!_

Unless... the Dursleys, a poor excuse for humans, let alone caretakers, had simply locked Potter away, only let out to do work befitting a house-elf. At first, the thought had seemed ridiculous. I mean, come on now! The Boy-Who-Lived, the saviour of the Wizarding World, treated like an abused house-elf? It was ludicrous! But given all the previous signs, the malnutrition, the neglect of his clothes and glasses, outright disdain when it came to his wellbeing, not to mention that his meagre possessions were kept in a cupboard, a _cupboard under the stairs for Merlin's sake,_ was that honestly that much of a leap?

While Severus considered all of this, he had come to realise two _very_ important things. First, Harry James Potter was most certainly abused. And second, that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was a _despicable lying bastard._ And if he was willing to lie through his teeth about The Boy-Who-Lived, then what else had he lied about? Who else does he have wrapped around his bony fingers? Why in Merlin's name was he doing this? Severus was determined to find out.

********

Harry, unbeknownst to Snape, was going through an internal struggle trying to cope with recent revelations.

  1. He had magic and was going to a school to learn better magic. Sweet!
  2. He was an heir and had a reasonable fortune of his own. He couldn't access it fully until he was 17 or was otherwise emancipated, but he had more than enough in a trust vault. He wondered if this was what being pampered was like.
  3. Someone named Albus Dumbledore was trying to manipulate him, and block his potential. Granted, the overall magical block was placed to prevent any accidental magic from getting out of hand, and was supposed to be removed fully by now. The fact that he could still perform magic was astounding in and of itself, but to try and twist him? To make a loyal subject out of him when he'd just barely gotten out from under the thumb of the Dursleys? Not bloody likely!
  4. He was still suffering from wounds, courtesy of his carers. The goblin healer, Ernuss, had taken care of them, though he was surprised to find broken bones on the long list of injuries. Ernuss had shaken his head at that, the pure disbelief from the goblin palpable.



_So, in summary,_ thought Harry, _we've got magic, we've got an almost ridiculous amount of spending money, and access to top-quality magical doctors. But we've got some old bastard somewhere who thinks he's got us under his control._

_So if he sees us, act controlled?_

_Pretty much._

_But other than that, everything else is top-notch._

_Right again!_

_So the same situation as last time, but with money and magic, and a hell of a lot more power on our end._

_Yep._

_Well,_ he smirked, _I'm nothing if not persistent. And not a damn thing is going to keep me down for long. Look out world, here I come!_

With that final declaration in his head, a pouch loaded with coin and someone new to spite, Harry left Gringotts in search of Snape.

********

Snape wasn't particularly hard to find, in all black against walls bursting with colour. Harry informed him of his trust vault and his magic coin pouch, which meant they had more than enough to buy supplies with.

First, they visited a wand shop with a plaque atop the door reading: _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C._ Harry wondered if it was the store or the owner that had been active that long, though rationalised that if magical immortality were available, he'd have heard about it by now. As he opened the door, a small bell ran throughout the shop, with the door closing to reveal a room seemingly devoid of life. To occupy himself, and to distract from the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley being silenced by the door, he glanced over the interior. The shelves were packed like sardines with narrow boxes, presumably containing wands, and packed straight to the ceiling. All of the shop's insides were coated in layers of dust that made even Harry's lip curl in a movement reminiscent of Petunia. After a moment, a man with bushy, grey hair and enough wrinkles to make Harry rethink the availability of magical immortality had appeared atop a sliding ladder. He turned to face Harry and smiled as if he'd found the answer to all his problems.

 _No-one should be that happy to see a child by themselves,_ thought Harry.

"I wondered when I'd be seeing you, Mr Potter." the man said. He climbed down the ladder and reached with a quivering hand to a shelf, choosing which box to remove. "And you are Mr Ollivander, I presume," Harry said back. The man turned with a grin to Harry. "Yes I am, Mr Potter, Garrick Ollivander to be precise. The maker of wands such as these since I took over from my father, Gervaise Ollivander, in 1926." Turning back to the shelf, he told Harry, "It seems only yesterday that your mother and father were in here buying their first wands! Ah. Here we are." He removed a brown wand with a somewhat curved handle from its box. "Ash, unicorn hair, 8 inches long, somewhat pliable" He handed the wand to Harry, who looked back at him, wondering what exactly to do. "Well go on, give it a wave," Ollivander suggested. Harry did so and the wand boxes shot out, cluttering onto the floor with great thuds. Harry placed the wand back on the table between the two. 

"Apparently not," Ollivander murmured. He thought for a moment, then went up a stepladder to reach for another box. "Cherry, dragon heartstring, 10 inches, immovably firm." He handed the wand to Harry, who waved it again, bursting an ornament into fragments of glass and iron. "No, no, most certainly not!" Ollivander cried as Harry placed the wand back onto the table. This pattern repeated for countless wands, with the shelves becoming less and less full, the boxes were stacked haphazardly on the table, and the store becoming more and more destroyed in the process.

Finally, Ollivander stood, dread consuming his normally chipper features. "I wonder..." Retreating into the depths of the shop and grabbing one of the last boxes remaining. "Curious," whispered Ollivander, "very, very curious." He returned to the table, Harry hoping that _this_ one wouldn't make something explode. "Dogwood, phoenix feather, 13 inches, reasonably flexible." The wand was a stark pure white, quite different from the shades of brown and black he'd seen earlier. He took it into his grasp and felt a surge of energy, of magic, flow through him, reaching through his toes and coursing through his very magical core before ending at the strands of his hair. The wand had practically screamed in joy now it had finally had the chance, the chance to cause mischief, the chance to cause chaos, the chance to make pure, unadulterated mayhem! 

_Oh, yes,_ thought Harry, _this is going to be very fun._

"It's curious you know." _Hm?_ "What do you mean?" asked Harry. 

"I remember every wand I sell, Mr Potter, and I remember that the phoenix that feather belonged to gave one other, and _only_ one other." Ollivander paused to glance at Harry's forehead. "And the wand that contains that one other feather, was the one that gave you that very scar." 

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his tone a bit more severe than it needed to be. "What does my scar has to with anything?"

Ollivander's brow shot up. "Mr Potter, your scar has to do with everything! It is a mark that shows you have survived what countless wizards and witches have not, an attempt on your life by You-Know-Who himself!"

Harry was confused by this. "I don't know who. Who's You-Know-Who?"

"You-Know-Who is the name almost all wizards and witches use to refer to," He paused, and with a shudder said, "the Dark Lord Voldemort. He did terrible things. Great things, but terrible."

Harry wasn't sure why he wanted to ask this, but his curiosity had demanded it. "What happened to my parents, sir?"

Ollivander frowned but answered Harry's question. "Your parents met their end by You-Know-Who, trying to protect you of course. No-one is quite sure why he targeted your family especially, but everyone knows that once he set his wand on you, that his curse, the Killing Curse, had somehow backfired, leaving you with that scar, and destroying himself in the process."

Harry reflected on this. Voldemort was the reason his parents were dead. Ergo, he was most likely the reason behind Harry's residence at the Dursleys. His actions had led to ten years of confinement and hard labour at the hands of the most despicable people he'd ever met.

 _Well,_ thought Harry, _at least he's dead. Saves me the effort of trying to bugger over two powerful wizards at once._

Harry left the store soon after paying Ollivander's price of seven galleons, with his mind looking towards the future and concerned with two major goals: to subvert Dumbledore's plans for him and to be magically powerful enough to do so. And, if he could fit it in, have some fun along the way.

_Wait. Did he say everyone knew about him? Am I some sort of legend in this world?_

_Well, that's going to get annoying quickly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been improving my descriptive writing, can you tell?  
> Sorry for splitting an event again, but there's far too much that I want to write to cram into one chapter.  
> Sorry again, but no more chapters till about the middle of next week, I've got other things to catch up on.
> 
> Toodles till then!


	6. I'm the Boy-Who-Lived. And you are?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of Diagon Alley, and leading up to the Express!
> 
> Look, imma be honest. I couldn't stop writing until the train so we got this big ol' chapter! yay!

Upon entering Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary with Snape, Harry was enraptured by it. The ingredients stacked in glass jars, others pickled in a murky green brine, the sound of bubbling cauldrons, the smell of alchemical vapours engulfing the shop, all of it had ensnared Harry, sending his inquisitive mind frothing at the mouth, his curiosity _begging_ for the chance to soak up everything he could about this like a sponge. Hell, _Harry_ was surprised by his sudden thirst for information! Not that his realisation slowed it down any, his eyes darting from shelf to shelf, intaking everything he could.

His efforts to commit potion ingredients to memory was interrupted, however, as Snape had tapped him on the shoulder with what almost looked like a fond smile, before returning to his neutral mask. They approached the counter, the owner of the shop sharing the same greasy locks as Snape. Harry wondered if everyone in this profession had that trademark grease. He almost considered it a badge of honour, before realising that, _no, personal hygiene is much more important._

"What will Sirs be needing today?" The owner said, grinning and rubbing his hands together, looking very pleased with his newest customers. 

"A pewter cauldron, size 2, a pair of dragonhide gloves, a set of silver scales, and 1-," Snape glanced at Harry, who was still visibly taken in by a jar of glowing purple beetle eyes, even if it had ramped down to rapid side-eyed glances, "actually, 2 sets of glass vials." Something told the Potions Master that Harry would like more chances to experiment outside of class. Perhaps unsuccessfully at first, but given the voracious focus that the boy was examining something as mundane as flobberworm mucus with, it was clear he had a passion for the subject, and it was best to nurture it.

"That," the owner started, in a fond tone of voice, obviously noticing the child's enthusiasm, "will be 26 Galleons and 6 Sickles."

"Potter," Snape said, in a much softer tone than he addressed the shopkeep with. Harry turned, and Snape tapped the counter.

"Oh! Right, sorry. Was just a bit caught in..." he waved his hands, trying to encompass the rest of the store, "everything."

The owner chuckled good-naturedly. "Of course, of course," he said while gathering the chosen items, "though I haven't seen that much enthusiasm in years from a student, especially a first-year!" He placed the equipment neatly on the counter, which began to wrap itself in brown paper, tying itself with string. "26 Galleons and 6 Sickles, please." Harry reached into his pouch, finding his desired coinage was jumping into his palm. After all the coins were placed on small towers across the countertop, the owner swept across them with his hand and the coins began to organise a queue to the till.

 _Convenient!_ Harry thought.

********

After Snape shrunk the boxes for Harry to place in his pockets, he strode over to the ingredients and started to examine them with a discerning eye, rather than the curious one Harry was using earlier. As he started to pick up two jars labelled 'Boomslang Skin' and comparing the two, Harry asked, "Professor, what are you looking for?", to which Snape simply replied, "Quality ingredients."

"There are differences?" Harry queried. Snape turned towards Harry, glaring, but quickly schooled his face back to normal. "Think of making a potion in a cauldron as making a dish in a pot, and potion ingredients as dish ingredients. You would want the best quality ingredients for, say, a stew, yes?" proposed Snape. Harry nodded. "So, while buying the ingredients, you'd look for the best, wouldn't you? Making a dish without good ingredients makes a lacklustre dish after all," he continued. "Naturally, you would check the ingredients beforehand, if they're mouldy, or if they're soft when they're not supposed to be, and so on. You would do the same with potion ingredients."

He began to ramble here, most likely as he'd memorised these facts through his life. "Make sure skin is taut, eyes should be clear, hair and flowers are bright and have retained their colour, I could go on-" It was at this point that Harry's eyes had glossed over, an involuntary response from years of dear old Petunia rambling about dust and kitchen tiles or whatever else it was that day. Snape stopped his speech and shook his head, realising what he was doing. "We'll go over a few in detail here, though the textbooks required should be adequate teachers in of themselves."

By the time the two had stopped, halfway through Snape's thorough description of how bezoars were harvested, it was only at the owner investigating were they had been, as it had been two hours after they had entered. The ingredient-enamoured duo didn't realise this, of course, thinking it had only been 20 minutes. Snape's Tempus charm, however, had shown that they had indeed been in there that long.

The two realised something each about themselves upon exiting Mr Mulpepper's Apothecary.

Snape had realised that despite his best efforts to the contrary, he had grown fond of the Potter boy. Not entirely out of a remaining fondness for Lily, although that was a part of it, but due to the boy's sheer personality, his experiences with those muggles having developed him into an intelligent, quick to learn, and if his observations were correct, rather snarky child. 

And Harry had realised something incredibly important. He was utterly, and completely, _obsessed,_ with Potions. 

********

After that, they retrieved a telescope and the required textbooks, as well as a few concerning magical wards and jinxes he had slipped under Snape's nose, (He wasn't as naive to think magical bullies didn't exist after all), and last but not least, an astoundingly beautiful snowy owl from Eeylops' named Hedwig, which Snape had recommended to him, "For the mere convenience of a personal owl is worth their weight in Galleons." He was then escorted to _Madam Malkins' Robes for All Occasions_ for his school robes, among other things. Snape told Harry that he was to return to Gringotts to pick up "an item of great importance", and so Harry would have to enter the shop alone. Inside, he saw robes, cloaks, hats, all different sizes, colours and designs, some made of traditional cotton, though others shone like spider silk. He then noticed a rather short, almost stocky woman dressed in dull red from top to bottom.

"Ah! Another one for Hogwarts, don't worry dear, just stand on that platform there, and we'll have you measured out right away!" she said all this while motioning towards the aforementioned stand while measuring tape had started to float around it in wait. Harry followed her instructions, though asked her, "Would it be alright to have some casual clothes as well, just one or two things?" He wouldn't just go galavanting around the school in the rags the Dursleys had given him, not a second time around!

"Of course dearie, I'll have those made up right away," she said this with the same smile, although a bit muted now she'd gotten a good look at the state of him. Harry could physically _feel_ her disapproval towards Dudley's hand-me-downs.

Once on the platform, Harry noticed a golden-blonde boy with a pale, pointed face across from him, who was undisturbed by the multiple measuring tapes flitting around his body.

"Hello," the boy said. "Off to Hogwarts as well I assume?"

"I should hope so," replied Harry. "Would be a bit awkward if there's another Harry Potter somewhere, waiting for their letter." Harry still had doubts about that until Ollivander's wand shop proved otherwise.

The boy opposite's eyes had widened, and his mouth was agape. "You're Harry Potter?!" the boy had whisper-shouted. 

_Oh lord, I'm going to have to get used to this happening a lot, aren't I?_

"No, I'm Harold Trotter," Harry said, sarcastically. "Harry's over there, by the ice cream shop."

The boy turned his head so fast Harry thought he'd cricked his neck! "Where!?"

Harry snorted. Something told him he would be fun to mess around with. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! I am Harry." He lifted his fringe out of place to show his scar.

The boy turned again- _he had to learn his name_ \- his eyes widening even more. After a moment though, he'd brought his face back to his neutral, 'I'm better than you.', expression. "It's very nice to meet you, Heir Potter," he said, learned formalities leaking through his words. "I'd shake your hand, but I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment." He gestured towards the measuring tapes tightening around his arms and waist. "I'm Draco Malfoy, heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you too," replied Harry. "You were saying about Hogwarts?"

"Oh, of course! All the best wizards have been to Hogwarts. Do you know what House you'd like to be sorted in? I'm a natural for Slytherin myself, of course."

 _Houses?_ "What are the Houses? What's Slytherin?"

"You- you don't know the Houses of Hogwarts?!" His eyes widened yet again, utterly shocked. "Have you been living under a rock for ten years?!"

Harry considered his living situation with the Dursleys. "Would a muggle the size of a rock count?"

By this point, Harry thought Draco's eyes would fall out of their sockets. "Harry Potter- the Boy-Who-Lived- living with muggles?!- Father's going to throw a fit- wait till everyone hears this!" His sentences seemed to stop and start, obviously rambling, before clearing his throat and starting again. "There are four Houses at Hogwarts. There's Gryffindor, for the foolish and reckless, Ravenclaw, they're smart, but not smart enough to do anything with it that matters, Hufflepuff, for the naive and stupid, and finally, Slytherin. The best House. The House of the cunning, ambitious, and resourceful.

 _Well you're certainly not biased,_ thought Harry.

"Who chooses the House you go to?" 

"The Sorting Hat, though nobody knows how it works. Just that when it does pick your house, it'll be the right fit."

"Okay, that makes sense." _It didn't, but after you realise that goblins have a monopoly on magical banking, an intelligent hat that sorts a school population doesn't seem that far-fetched._

"Though, something I'll never understand is why they still allow Half-bloods and Mud- Muggleborns into Hogwarts at all!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "And why's that?"

"Well, they don't know our ways, do they? Most of them don't even know what magic is till they get the letter! Not to mention there's less magic in them by default."

Harry was bothered by that little tidbit. "Draco, that doesn't make any bloody sense."

Draco looked affronted at this. "What? Why?"

"Because, if they don't go to Hogwarts, they won't learn 'our ways'," he made air quotes with his fingers at that. "Also, if they don't go to Hogwarts, how are they supposed to learn how to use it? If a muggle kid has a tantrum, they're just loud and annoying. If a muggle-born kid has a tantrum, they could set the bloody house on fire!"

Draco was taken aback by Harry's anger. "I mean, I've managed to somehow teleport on top of a bloody roof just by wanting to get away from someone enough. Imagine if someone wanted to hurt someone enough that they _did something!"_

Draco looked, in a word, furious that Harry had disagreed with him, almost to the point of arguing with him, but then paused, and seemed to consider what Harry had said. "I... I never really thought about it like that."

"Well." Harry's sudden anger started to deflate now and was now feeling particularly awkward as the tape was _still_ measuring. "Right. Sorry for shouting at you like that."

After what felt like hours, though most likely was only a few minutes, the tape had stopped and hovered over to a side room, where Harry assumed they'd magically adjust the robes or something similar.

"Well," said Harry.

"That was... odd," finished Draco.

"Yup," Harry said, popping the 'p'.

"Shall we start over? I'm Draco Malfoy, you're Harry Potter, we're both students at Hogwarts and heirs of our Houses. It's a pleasure to meet you," he finished, holding his hand out, trying to start afresh.

"A pleasure to meet you too Draco." Harry shook his hand a tad more aggressively than he needed to.

It was at this point, for whatever reason, that the two broke down into awkward giggles. Nobody could tell why, not even them, but they did anyway. 

********

By the time the two had left, Draco had asked Harry about Quidditch while their robes were being adjusted, to which Harry had responded, _what the bloody hell's Quidditch?_ Draco had looked indignant at this, though it looked more towards his relatives and less towards Harry, which was a relief. After a quick summary of the basic rules and the positions players could take, and a rather long rant on why the Chudley Cannons had no chance in the recent Quidditch League, to which, Harry simply nodded when it seemed appropriate (read: He had no idea what Draco was on about, but he couldn't exactly disagree with him, now could he?) until Madam Malkins had exited the side room to give the two soon-to-be-students their new clothes, as well as facilitate payment.

The two had exited, with an agreement to meet on the train to Hogwarts if possible, and definitely to meet up once they had arrived at Hogwarts. Snape had arrived a few seconds after Draco had left, 'item of great importance' no doubt in his possession. 

"I see you've met my godson, Potter," he drawled. Harry thought this was odd, as he only drawled when he was annoyed.

"Yes Professor. We've agreed to meet on the Hogwarts Express if we can find each other." Harry thought keeping the argument out of Snape's knowledge would be a good idea.

Snape smirked. "I should hope so. Something tells me the both of you together will be quite the team."

Harry smirked right back. "I think I like the sound of that."

********

Unfortunately for Harry, no matter how much he tried to weasel out of it, he was forced to go back to the Dursleys' for the remainder of the holidays. Fortunately, no-one had told them that Harry couldn't do magic outside the school, and thus, left him alone throughout the next 5 weeks. Nevermind the fact that Harry had no idea how to _do_ anything, a bluff was better than nothing. Harry was left unbothered in the cupboard, though he ended up enjoying the thing for its solitude rather than feeling trapped by it as was normally the case. His things were kept atop the bed in Dudley's second bedroom, and it was merely a matter of trying not to die of boredom before September 1st. 

It was long, boring and by god was it tedious, but September finally rolled around, the Dursleys had driven him to King's Cross Station, much to their dismay, and he had finally started his journey to Hogwarts!

Now. He only had one question.

_Where the bloody fuck is Platform 9 and 3/4?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May have condensed a whole lot of shop's equipment into the Apothecary. I mean it makes sense, why wouldn't you have potioning equipment as well as ingredients?


	7. So, why can't you two get along?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The train to Hogwarts, and the Sorting!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out of hole* Hello? Anyone still there?  
> Hello you lovely people! Sorry that I haven't updated in what feels like a year, but college has been kicking my arse lately.  
> Hopefully, regular updates may come round again, but... don't count on it I guess???
> 
> Also, parts of the dialogue leading up to the actual sorting are taken from the book. If it ain't broke, don't fix it after all.

Harry was confused and frustrated. He'd been pacing between Station 9 and 10 for twenty minutes now, ticket in hand, and hadn't seen the slightest hint of this "Platform 9 3/4" he'd been told about! He briefly wondered if the Dursleys had played a prank on him, before rationalising that _no, they don't have that kind of money, and they're not nearly smart enough to come up with this in the first place, don't be an idiot._ Twenty minutes turned to forty, in which he had the rather odd thought of simply running into the barrier between the platforms. After all, if all it took for Diagon was a few taps on a brick wall...

His musing on whether or not to risk a concussion was interrupted by the sight of a rather large group of redheads bustling into the station, their carts filled with suitcases, bookbags and what looked like wooden chests, with the tallest one having an owl cage on his. The one at the front, the mum of the lot Harry assumed, was guiding them, in a sort of luggage convoy. "-every year, packed with muggles, of course. Come on! Platform 9 3/4 this way," she said, oddly loud considering they were effectively surrounded by them. Though none of them seemed to notice. Odd. Harry almost turned around, before stopping to realise he was being an idiot, and promptly made his way with his cart towards the ginger entourage. 

"Excuse me," Harry asked, not entirely sure where the other boys following her had gone to, "Which way is it to the platform? I've got my ticket, I'm just not sure where to go..." The woman's face lit up in recognition. "Of course dear! Just this way, Percy and the Twins have already gone through. Now, you see that wall there?" She pointed to the barrier between the two platforms. "Just go straight through there, and you'll end up right on the other side. Just run through if you're nervous." Harry's face must have shown his doubt at what she had said because she continued. "Tell you what, I'll show you," then gestured towards another red-headed boy to join them. "Ron, could you show the boy how it's done?" The boy's eyes widened in surprise. "I know it's your first year as well, but you've got a lot more experience seeing your brothers go through."

The boy nodded, still a little surprised by this turn of events, but willing to demonstrate. He grasped the handlebars of his cart and ran towards the barrier, phasing through it. 

Harry's jaw dropped before he shook his head to clear it. _Right. Magic. They wouldn't have normal platforms, now would they?_

Harry turned to the woman again, thanked her, and walked quickly towards the barrier, hoping it would work for him, though he did close his eyes in anticipation of the worst. He'd started to run now, straight towards the stone, he must have only been a foot away- _how am I still going?_ He opened his eyes to see the most peculiar sight. He had walked through the entrance at this point, though it seemed the stone was moulding around him like mud, blocking his sight apart from right in front of him, but still allowing him free movement. He pressed on, finally seeing light and emerging the other side. A steam engine, painted both black and a deep red, was waiting next to the platform, which was itself full of soon to be passengers and parents seeing them off. At the front of the train was a sign, cast into the iron that read _'Hogwarts Express'_ and another wrought-iron arched sign that read _'Platform 9 & 3/4'. _

_Told you they weren't that smart,_ snarked the voice in his head, that at this point had changed to sound a bit like Draco.

 _Yes, yes, I'll never doubt you again,_ Harry mentally replied.

********

Making a mental note to thank Severus again for charming his luggage feather-light, he grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage, boarding the train. As he walked along the train, he looked into the windows of the compartments, trying to find Draco. After about ten minutes of this, he gave up trying to find him, assuming he simply wasn't on the train yet, before finding an empty compartment right at the end and storing his luggage on the shelves above his seat, taking extra care to make Hedwig as comfy as he could. He had started to read a book on simple jinxes while the train started, before the door had opened again, revealing the same red-headed boy from the station, luggage in hand.

"Anyone else sitting here?" he asked, pointing at the seat across from Harry. "All the other ones are full is all."

"Course not," Harry answered. "You're Ron, right? Thanks for showing me how to get through."

Ron rubbed the back of his head and grinned. "No problem. Mum was right, after all, I'd seen my brothers do it enough times to do it blindfolded! What's your name anyway?"

"Harry." He responded.

"Harry what?"

"Oh! Right, sorry, Harry Potter."

Ron's eyes almost bulged out their sockets. "You're joking!"

 _Well, that could have gone worse._ "Fraid not."

"Bloody hell! So you- you've actually got the scar?" Ron asked while a smile crept onto his face.

Harry grinned, for some reason, Ron's enthusiasm seemed to be infectious. "Yeah. I'm guessing you know about the thing with Voldy as well?"

"Yeah, I- sorry, Voldy?"

"Well, if I can't say his whole name, and I refuse to call him 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', gives him far too much respect if you ask me. Therefore, Voldy," he finished.

"I- what do you mean 'too much respect'?", he questioned.

"Well, yes, he might have had some sort of intense magical prowess or whatever, but from I've heard, he was a mass-murdering loony who was defeated by someone who couldn't even speak properly. Now, does that seem like someone worthy of a whole new name because we're all too afraid to say his?"

Ron opened his mouth to say something but seemingly couldn't think of a response.

 _Dammit, you've ranted again. Quick, say something funny!_ "Plus, it's a lot easier to say than 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'. Now that's just _far_ too long.

Ron snorted, breaking out into quiet giggles at the sudden mood change. _Oh, thank God._

"You know," Ron started, still giggling, "You're definitely different than what I expected!"

"Oh?" said Harry, returning the grin. "And what did you expect?"

"I- I'm not entirely sure," he said, the giggles dying down now, looking a bit confused. "Someone more... uptight, I suppose. Everyone and their mother will say that 'The-Boy-Who-Lived saved us from Voldemort!' and 'He's the saviour of the Wizarding World!', so I thought you'd be more... serious? I guess? Not really sure about that anymore." He finished, no longer giggling, with a contemplative look on his freckled face.

Harry smiled more sincerely than he could ever remember doing. _Uptight? Me? Not likely._ "Well, now you get to know the 'real' Harry, won't you?"

Ron smiled right back. "Yeah, guess I will!"

They both enjoyed the silence for a while before Harry asked what Ron's home life was like, where he detailed how he had five elder brothers and a younger sister, though looked grim when he listed off his brother's accomplishments, especially so when mentioning how "Everyone expects me to do as well as them, but if I'm not, it's okay because they did it first." He also let out how most of his possessions were second-hand, his books from the Twins, his rat, Scabbers, from Percy, and his robes and wand from Bill and Charlie respectively.

Harry related to this, most of his stuff pre-Snape were whatever Dudley didn't want or had broken, so Harry told him about it, and was glad to see it cheered Ron up. It felt good for both of them to vent, Ron must have never got the chance, as he seemed to be surrounded by family who, while clearly loving him, wouldn't want to hear that their efforts weren't meeting his wants. Harry, likewise, hadn't mentioned it to anyone else before this, though there wasn't much of a chance before or after the Dursleys to speak up about it. Although Ron had looked a bit shocked that Harry had grown with muggles, the look quickly faded as it seemed to explain Harry's disdain towards You-Know-Who.

********

The two had sat in companionable silence for a while, before being disturbed by a middle-aged witch with a trolley full of sweets and snacks that Harry hadn't ever heard of before. "Anything off the trolley dears?" Ron had jumped up with a grin on his face, but then seemed to remember something important that made the grin fade back into his face and sat back down. Harry, noticing Ron's clear disappointment, turned to the woman and said, "We'll take the lot, thank you!" Harry didn't which was funnier to look at, Ron's surprise at Harry grabbing it all based on a glance or the woman's surprise at having the remainder of her stock bought out by a first-year! 

"You didn't have to do that for me," Ron mumbled. Harry, ignoring this, unwrapped the first thing that caught his eyes, a Cauldron Cake, and handed it to him. "Want one?" 

Ron shook his head, grinning as he did so, and took it.

They had started their sugar-filled feast, Harry sneering when he found a Chocolate Frog card displaying 'Albus Dumbledore', sneering even further when the opposite side read ', currently Headmaster of Hogwarts.'. Ron was about to ask about his expression but was interrupted by the door sliding open again, revealing a bushy-haired girl with her robes already on and noticeably large front teeth. It almost reminded Harry of a beaver. He stifled a laugh before realising she was saying something. "...seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one." Harry and Ron both shook their heads. "Are you sure? It couldn't have..." her eyes lingered on Harry's forehead, widening. "My word, you're Harry Potter! I've read all about you of course - you're in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century -" Geez, motormouth much?_ "- there's even a whole children's series about you!" 

_Wait, what?_

_"_ Sorry, series? What the hell are you on about?!" Ron's eyes lit up in recognition, ignoring Harry's anger at being lauded up as a saviour, _again._ "Oh yeah! My sister, Ginny, she's got all of those! _Harry Potter and the Vampire's Curse, Harry Potter and the Sphinx's Riddle,_ I think there's about five now." Harry wasn't sure whether to be impressed or _royally pissed_ that someone had made a mint off of his name, so it ended up being a weird mixture of emotions that churned in his stomach, eventually flaring into anger. "Will you both shut up!? I'm no fairytale hero, or some historic relic, or anything like that, alright!? I'm just Harry!"

Ron and the girl both flushed guiltily, though the girl considerably less so. Harry sighed, annoyed he had lost his temper again. "Can I at least get your name before you start telling me what else I'm in?" The girl looked caught off guard, though quickly re-adjusted herself. "I'm Hermione Granger." She turned to Ron. "And you are?" 

"Ron Weasley," he mumbled out, face still slightly red from Harry's scolding.

"Pleasure," Hermione replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I do have to find Neville's toad, but before I do..." she trailed off as she pulled out a wand and pointed it straight at Harry's face. Harry flinched, noticing the wand in his face and quickly realising there wasn't much space to go now the entrance was blocked. "Oculus Reparo," she said, and Harry's taped-together glasses were fixed, the tape coming off and vanishing before his eyes, cracks in the frame clicking back together, the lenses cleared of dirt Harry hadn't even noticed. "Consider that an apology. Now I really must be off, and I recommend you get your robes on soon, we'll be there in a minute." And with that, she slid the door closed and walked further along the train, ignoring the annoyed look on Ron's face.

"Bit of a know-it-all, isn't she?" Ron asked, rhetorically. "Just hope I don't end up in her house."

"Speaking of houses," Harry started, seeing a chance to change the subject. She did seem a bit much, but she also fixed his glasses, so... "What are the houses about again?"

Ron's eyebrow quirked up. "No-one's told you about the houses yet?"

"Well, there was one boy who did in Madam Malkins, but he seemed a bit... biased, to say the least."

Ron delved into a somewhat less biased explanation of the houses, though his obvious distaste towards Slytherin seeped through his words. "Almost all my family has been in Gryffindor," he said, his previous gloom settling in again. "Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff wouldn't be too bad though." His desire to stand out from his family seemed to have spread to most of his other wants as well. It was a shame to see Ron so gloomy, so Harry tried to change the subject again, hoping _this one_ wouldn't send Ron down that train of thought.

********

Harry had just gotten Ron's mood up with talk of Quidditch when the compartment door slid open - _this is going to be a pattern, isn't it? -_ revealing sleeked-back blonde hair and a rather familiar face. "There you are! I've been looking for you for ages!" Draco griped. It was only then that Harry noticed two rather heavyset boys flanking Draco. "Who are these two?" 

Draco turned, confused for a moment, before realising and clarifying to Harry. "Ah, these are Crabbe and Goyle," he said, gesturing to his left and right respectively. They looked almost identical, apart from Goyle having a much plumper face than Crabbe, reminding Harry of a stern-faced Dudley. Draco turned to them. "You can go back now, I've found him." The pair looked confused. "Go on, get back to the compartment with Pansy and Blaise!" He said while making a sort of shooing motion as if they were overzealous guard dogs. Which, considering the size of them, might not have been too far off. Goyle still looked befuddled, but Crabbe caught on and lightly dragged him by the sleeve along the train.

"Sorry about that. They're alright, as far as minions go, but utterly _dreadful_ at conversation. Nevermind them, why didn't you-" he paused, his gaze landing on Ron as he surveyed the compartment. "Ah. Weasley," he drawled.

" _Malfoy_ ," Ron almost snarled in response, hands in a death grip on the fabric of the seat.

"Do you two... know each other?"

They turned to Harry, glaring, and overlapping each other, said:

"I know him from his muggle-loving _imbecile_ of a father-"

"Oh, that's rich, coming from a slimy bloody _snake_ -"

This continued like this for a while before they promptly returned to glaring at each other, stares as intense as if they could burst the other's head open if they glared hard enough.

Harry gaped at this ridiculous display, before pinching his brow in frustration. "And you hate each other... why?! And for the love of God, one at a time!"

Draco started, interrupting whatever Ron was about to say. "The Weasleys are blood traitors, not caring a bit about any of _our_ traditions, and squandering their lives away in what would be a poor excuse for a _dump,_ let alone a house. Their insipid father obsesses over everything muggle as if they _have_ anything of value and _aren't_ just insignificant savages."

Harry turned to Ron, chin resting on his fist. "And you hate him because?..."

"Because _his lot,_ they're filled to the brim with slimy bloody snakes from top to bottom, because _his_ family wouldn't recognise a day of honest work if it stood in front of them, naked, while it was doing the bloody can-can! Not to mention how his dad should be in Azkaban by now with the amount of dark stuff they've got, but _somehow_ manages to slip through scot-free!"

Harry closed his eyes, sighing in frustration. He paused for a second, before saying: "Have you two even _met_ each other? Talked, even once?"

Both of them almost lashed out at Harry, before adopting what Harry had taken to calling their 'thinking faces'; Draco scrunching his face together and rubbing his chin, while Ron furrowed his brow in concentration while scratching the side of his face.

Ron spoke up first this time. "Apart from the one time a few years ago, some big party hosted by the..."He paused in thought, allowing Draco to fill in the rest. "Greengrass Manor, 4 years ago, in the... winter. Annual Yule Ball I believe. We saw each other, but we didn't talk."

"Right," Harry began. "So you haven't talked to each other at all, assuming you'd both be the same as your father's." Both of them nodded. "So why don't you talk to each other now?" 

Both of them looked at Harry as if he'd asked them to spit on their mother's graves.

"Oh come on! There must be, I dunno, _something_ you two have in common?! How about Quidditch? Who's the best team?

"Well," said Ron, with pride clear in his voice, "it's obviously the Cannons. They've-"

"I'm sorry, the _Cannons?!_ They haven't been in the top ten for years, let alone won anything!"

Harry interjected here, "Is the top ten impressive or...?"

"There are thirteen teams in Britain. Total."

"Ah. So terrible, got it."

"Now hold on a bloody second here!" Ron interrupted. "They aren't as bad as the Falcons, at _least!_ "

"Weasley. Their motto is, _literally,_ 'Let's all just keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best'. How they still have supporters is a mystery for the ages."

This continued, thankfully the door was shut by this point, with Ron staunchly defending the Chudley Cannons and even managing to get in a few good points (at least, Harry thought he did.) against Draco's favourite team, the Ballycastle Bats. This went on for the rest of the train ride, with their arguing almost turning into a civilised debate rather than a shouting match, while Harry ignored them and tried to finish off that jinx book he started. _Hopefully without any more interruptions._

********

Once the train arrived, with the trio now packed and freshly robed, though Ron's did seem worn down compared to Draco's and Harry's, they left their luggage on the train as they'd been told, where assumedly it'd, (though in Hedwig's case, she'd), be taken to the castle through magical means, before departing onto a tiny and dark platform, shivering as the cold winter air swept past them. A great, booming voice was heard in front of them, leading to an extremely large man who looked as if his beard was bent on taking over his entire face, thankfully leaving everything above his nose untouched, with two dark eyes glinting like beetles. "C’mon, follow me – any more firs’-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’-years follow me!"

They headed down a steep pathway, everyone remaining eerily silent, before arriving at a part of the shore with multiple small boats resting on the water's surface. "No more’n four to a boat!", their guide bellowed, the trio quickly managing to procure a boat for themselves, followed by a rather pudgy boy with a bowl cut, looking extremely nervous, with a toad cupped between his hands. _That must be Neville,_ Harry surmised. "Everyone in?" shouted the giant, who needed a boat to himself, "Right then – FORWARD!" he commanded, the boats gliding forward by themselves.

As the boats made their way towards the castle, giving a beautiful view of the structure with the moon seemingly engulfing it, windows sparkling as they reflected the stars in the night sky, before passing through an opening in the cliff face hidden by ivy, and stopping at an underground harbour, where they clambered out onto a stone platform. Following the giant's lamp up a flight of stairs and arriving at a huge oaken door. Many of the others seemed nervous at this, including Ron, though a few, including Draco, looked unfazed. The giant turned and started doing a headcount, before turning back around and knocking three times on the castle door, which swung upon, revealing a tall, elderly woman dressed in emerald-green robes and showing a stern face towards the soon-to-be students.

"The firs’-years, Professor McGonagall," said the giant.

"Thank you, Hagrid, I will take them from here." _Thank god, I can stop calling him 'the giant now_ _!_ "Follow me, students!" She turned to lead, the crowd dutifully following her along the torch-lit corridors. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she began, walking along the cobblestone. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is an incredibly important ceremony as while you are here, your house will act as your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony is just about to take place in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can, to ensure your first impression is your best impression."

They were coming close to an incredibly huge set of oaken double-doors, which swung open without noise, revealing a grandiose hall the likes of which Harry had never seen in his life, what looked like thousands of candles, lit and hovering in midair over five finely made mahogany tables which looked stretched-out, one for each house, and one placed horizontally for the staff, which themselves were all teeming with golden dishware and cutlery. As he overheard the bushy-haired girl from the train mention the ceiling being bewitched, he looked up and saw the roof, seemingly dissolved and opened up to the sky above, mirroring the dark, still night he had seen on the boat.

Looking further forward, he saw an old, frayed wizard hat, covered with patches and dirt, and at points, needlework kept it together near the brim, placed on a four-legged stool. _Ten knuts says we have to pull a rabbit out of it,_ bet the Voice™, which now sounded like Ron. _Sure, why not? Either way, I win._

Then, something neither of them expected. The stitches started to stretch apart, resembling a mouth - and Harry was almost convinced he dreamt all this up - the damned thing started to _sing._

_‘Oh, you may not think I’m pretty,_   
_But don’t judge on what you see,_   
_I’ll eat myself if you can find_   
_A smarter hat than me._   
_You can keep your bowlers black,_   
_Your top hats sleek and tall,_   
_For I’m the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_   
_And I can cap them all._   
_There’s nothing hidden in your head_   
_The Sorting Hat can’t see,_   
_So try me on and I will tell you_   
_Where you ought to be._   
_You might belong in Gryffindor,_   
_Where dwell the brave at heart,_   
_Their daring, nerve and chivalry_   
_Set Gryffindors apart;_   
_You might belong in Hufflepuff_   
_Where they are just and loyal,_   
_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_   
_And unafraid of toil;_   
_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_   
_If you’ve a ready mind,_   
_Where those of wit and learning,_   
_Will always find their kind;_   
_Or perhaps in Slytherin_   
_You’ll make your real friends,_   
_Those cunning folk use any means_   
_To achieve their ends._   
_So put me on! Don’t be afraid!_   
_And don’t get in a flap!_   
_You’re in safe hands (though I have none)_   
_For I’m a Thinking Cap!_

_I'm sorry - WHAT?_

No-one seemed to notice Harry's clear disbelief and shock that a _bloody hat just bloody sang - oh god, he was sounding like Ron now -_ starting a wave of applause that coursed through the hall, the hat attempting to bow in response and becoming still again. He vaguely heard Ron telling him how "Fred was going on wrestling a troll!", but didn't fully return to reality until the crowd had halved, and a boy with his hair slicked into a side part sat on the stool, the hat promptly declaring him a "HUFFLEPUFF!".

Next was Seamus Finnegan, who took about a minute for the hat to decide but eventually landed on "GRYFFINDOR!". Afterwards was Hermione Granger, who almost ran to the stool and placed the hat firmly on her head. It seemed to be stuck Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, before eventually proclaiming "GRYFFINDOR!", which led to Ron audibly groaning. "Oh cheer up!" Harry said. "At the very worst you've got someone you can copy in class." Ron had smiled at that, but it slightly faded as Draco was called up, the hat not even touching his head before exclaiming "SLYTHERIN!" Ron almost looked put down, before realising where he was and correcting himself. _Seemed he liked that little debate more than he realised._ After Draco was Susan Bones, who was put into Hufflepuff. Ron was next on the list, who looked a bit nervous as he went up.

"Another Weasley, eh? No matter, I know- Oh!" The hat chuckled ominously, before lowering their volume to the point where Harry could barely hear it. "I've never seen such a thirst to prove yourself from a Weasley before, although I believe one came close! An awfully _Slytherin_ trait, isn't it?" Ron tensed up, his face paling as it chuckled again, somehow more ominous than last time. "Ah, no matter. You'll no doubt do best in GRYFFINDOR!" He visibly relaxed before heading over to the table to the far right, where the other red-headed boys' Harry recognised from the station were sitting, two identical ones starting to cheer loudly.

The next few went along quickly, before, at last:

"Potter, Harry!"

And then the whispers started, the silence beforehand helping to further echo them.

" _Potter,_ did she say?"

" _The_ Harry Potter?"

"D'you think he's still got the scar?"

"I thought he'd be taller, honestly."

 _Goody,_ he thought to himself. _I'm going to have an entire school of this brand of idiot hounding me. Oh well, you knew what you were getting yourself into. In for a penny, in for a pound._

He walked up to the stool, relishing the sudden silence, and placed the hat atop his head.

"Hmm," he heard a small voice in his ear say, yet managed to hear it echo off the walls simultaneously. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting ... So where shall I put you?"

_Whichever house will help to develop myself to the fullest, thank you kindly._

The hat hummed. "Most likely Ravenclaw or Slytherin then, given your desires and natural intellect. But which one?" The hat paused again, but Harry, becoming impatient by this point, supplied the sentient headwear with another suggestion.

_Oh, screw it. Which one will piss off ol' Dumbledore the most?_

Then, something that shocked all in attendance into silence occurred. The Sorting Hat broke into _laughter._ Honest to god, from its non-existent belly, _laughter._ Echoing off the walls, reverberating throughout the entire structure and exiting through openings, creating the rather eerie effect of disembodied _guffaws_ filling the castle from top to bottom.

Once its mirth had started to die down, he finally announced his house. "I - If that's the case," it broke into slightly muffled chuckles partway through the sentence, "Then the best place for you is clearly SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table started to quietly applaud, while the other tables seemed shocked into further silence, a few of the assorted first years joining the applause, but quickly stopped after either reading the room or being stopped by older students.

As Harry walked towards his new house, he stopped to look towards the staff table. Most of the staff had mirrored the shocked faces of the students, though to a lesser extent. The main two exceptions, however, were the cherries on the metaphorical cake. Snape looked as if he had tried to hide his pleased look, though clearly failed miserably, creating an odd combination of expressions, stern eyes and scrunched-up brow contradicting a smirk filled with smug arrogance, and what almost felt like a bit of pride towards Harry.

And Dumbledore?

Harry's single desire at this moment was to have his expression framed and placed on a trophy shelf.

Dumbledore looked the dictionary definition of impotent rage, his piercing silver eyes staring, quite fittingly, icily and piercingly towards the Sorting Hat as if _it_ was the sole reason his plans were going awry, his jaw clenched tight, clearly grinding his teeth behind his far-too-long beard, and curling his lip in an almost frighteningly well-done impression of Aunt Petunia.

_Fucking. Priceless._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1000+ hits. 100+ kudos.
> 
> Holy hell.


	8. Slytherin are the baddies? Who made that decision?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the opening feast, and an intro to Slytherin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhhh. Remember when I said you might get more regular updates? Me neither!  
> Honestly, you'd think that being locked in your room would make me write more often, but apparently not.
> 
> Anywho, please enjoy the chapter, and give me feedback if you want. Or don't. I'm not your boss, I'm just a text box.

Once Harry had made his way to his new house, feeling the most pleased with himself he'd ever felt in his life, he took a seat next to Draco. Afterwards, there were only three unsorted children left but were quickly gone through, with the last, 'Zabini, Blaise', being sorted into Slytherin. Harry was sure he'd heard his name somewhere else but thought nothing of it as he saw McGonagall collect the Sorting Hat, while the scroll listing student names curled up by itself and followed behind her.

Once that was done, and any remaining chatter had died down, (not that there was much to stop), Albus Dumbledore stood from the centre of the High Table, beaming towards all of the students, arms wide, as if he hadn't just wanted to set a certain talking hat on fire not a minute ago. "Welcome! Welcome to the new, the old, and every one of you in-between, to a new year at Hogwarts! But before we begin our opening banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down, half-hearted applause following. "I've no idea how someone so incompetent could run Hogwarts," Draco said, leaning left towards Harry. He wasn't convinced, however. "Fairly certain no-one that powerful would want to sound that stupid. Not on purpose at least," he suggested. Draco's eyes lit up in what he hoped was recognition, before noticing what had _actually_ caught his eye, causing Harry's mouth to fall open, starting to drool.

**Food.**

Thick cuts of roast beef and chicken served with side dishes of horseradish sauce and sage and onion stuffing; pork and lamb chops coated in lemon juice and garlic butter, a clear sheen on both from being pan-fried in creamy butter; perfectly plump sausages, crispy bacon and juicy, tender steaks; boiled, jacket and mashed potatoes served with great dollops of even more butter; crisp roast potatoes and golden-brown chips; light and airy, yet still crisp Yorkshire puddings; garden peas and carrots, again served with butter, jars of silky smooth gravy dotted across the table; and finally, for reasons Harry most likely couldn't start to figure out, bowls of butterscotch sweets wrapped in golden film. All of the dishes were piled high, some as tall as himself, at least while he was sitting down. It was a veritable mountain of a feast, like gazing past the pearly gates into food heaven. 

And the best part?

**He could have it all.**

Harry wasted no time in filling his plate with a whole lot of everything, slipping a few of the sweets in his pockets for later, taking great relish in the fact that a certain pig-faced prat wasn't there to steal any of it. Unfortunately, seeing a rather spindly, and up until the Sorting Hat, rather unremarkable boy, (aside from the whole Harry Potter thing of course), gorge himself on the Opening Feast as if he'd fasted for the last month was... well, it wasn't the best first impression he could have made, and considering the shock and disgust evident on Draco's face as he turned to talk, it may have just been the worst one.

Harry, of course, was completely unaware of his new housemates' expressions, as he was far too busy digging his sausages into his mash to get a mouthful of both at once, while still chewing on a forkful of beef and horseradish. The only saving grace was that he at least had the forethought to keep his maw shut while he chewed, to be somewhat distinguishable from his rotund cousin, and incidentally, though he didn't know it, his red-headed friend on the other side of the hall was similarly stuffing his face, though unfortunately lacked the decorum to keep his mouth closed.

It was only after he'd gotten through about a quarter of his mini-feast, which concerningly had only taken half a minute, that he started to notice his friend's expression, gulped down whatever was left and paled now that he'd realised what he'd just done, making a ruddy fool of himself the first chance he could, just like _last time_. Granted, that was mostly Dudley's fault, but _still._

"Did those muggles teach you table manners, or is this just the first time you've seen an actual table before?" Draco had asked. A few snickers had risen from the table, though Draco still kept that look of disbelief.

Harry rubbed the back of his head after putting his cutlery down. "Sorry, was just... hungry," he mumbled.

"But we ate on the train?"

"I know that, but, well, just," he stuttered, trying to find a way to say _I've either been fed table scraps, terrible food or just nothing at all for my whole damn life, and there's an honest-to-god feast in front of me, what do you **think** I'm going to do? _without being obvious. _Come on, think of a distraction!_

"So, you're Harry Potter?" said a tweedy boy on his left. _Why do I keep jinxing myself?!_

"Yes, what of it?" Harry spat out, his tone showing just how tired he was of that question.

The boy put his hands up in mock surrender. "I don't mean to offend, I was just wondering where you knew Draco from is all."

Draco answered for him, though some of the events seemed a bit off. "We encountered each other at Madam Malkins, to get our robes fitted. We got to talking about Quidditch, and agreed to meet on the Express once our robes were done."

"Aren't you forgetting a few things, Draco?" Harry started to smirk, realising what his blond friend was trying to do.

Draco's eyebrow quirked up before he returned to his self-assured grin. "What are talking about Harry? That's exactly how I remember it."

"Really? Because I remember you jumping right up to the window when I said 'Harry' was outside."

Slight chuckles came from the rest of the table, both showing who was listening in and resulting in a rather flustered Malfoy. "Th-that was because you tricked me!" Draco replied, indignantly.

Harry was struggling to hold back his giggles now. "Look, I'm very sorry Draco. but if you got tricked by someone calling themselves, 'Harold Trotter', then frankly, you deserve to get tricked."

The slight chuckling from his left started to choke at that. "Oh Merlin, I can just imagine the look on his face!" he said, before making a very insulting, but _very accurate_ impression of a star-struck Draco, which sent a surge of laughter throughout the table, Harry included.

"By Merlin, I'm going to regret being friends with you, aren't I?" said Draco, pinching his nose in exasperation.

"Maybe," replied Harry, still giggling and _thoroughly_ enjoying this new atmosphere, "but at least you won't get bored, will you?"

Draco smiled. "I should hope not. I do so detest being bored."

********

The rest of the Feast went along similarly, with moments of eating interspersed between Harry asking about the ghosts floating around them, and how they came to be. "Well, of course, there are ghosts. I mean, would _you_ want to stay dead forever? I certainly wouldn't." He had to hand it to him, it was a good point. After all, he could think off the top of his head a few people who were due a good haunting.

As well as this, Harry was being introduced to the rest of his year by Draco, who seemed to know them in advance; the tweedy boy being Theodore Nott, who seemed content with listening rather than talking after his single question to Harry; Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced girl who seemed to be the vocal leader of the girls; Crabbe and Goyle, who were introduced as Vince and Greg by Draco, as they were too busy stuffing their faces in a way that let him know what _he_ looked like not a few minutes ago: disgustingly desperate.

Following them were Blaise Zabini, a rather tall dark-skinned boy; Tracey Davis, a rather short, (read: around the same height as Harry himself), East Asian girl with square-framed glasses; Daphne Greengrass, a blonde-haired blue-eyed girl who was still smoothing her hair out from the boat ride, though seemed nice enough to talk to; and finally, Millicent Bulstrode, a large girl, both in weight and height, only surpassed by Vince and Greg, though thankfully much more talkative and _much_ more intelligent.

By now, Harry had eaten his way through the rest of his meal, (thankfully remembering his table manners), and had started to look up at the High Table again. The giant, Hagrid, was drinking what he assumed was wine from his goblet, while Professor McGonagall was talking to Dumbledore. Not surprising, considering their respective roles in the school. Most odd however was Sever- Professor Snape having a conversation with a rather peculiar man.

Pale skin, with a face marred by worry lines along his forehead and below his eyes which, while they looked natural on someone such as McGonagall, who'd most likely been teaching for longer than Harry'd been alive, looked worryingly disturbing on his much younger face. He kept rubbing his hands together as he talked, eyes darting from side to side as if he was looking for something. Most peculiarly, however, was his turban, completely purple to match his robes and wrapped tightly enough around his head that it just _looked_ uncomfortable! He'd seen a few here and there when the Durselys' had no other choice but to take him with them, usually followed by Vernon muttering something about "bloody foreigners", but seeing how _tight_ this one was comparatively, while not being suspicious in and of itself, just seemed... off _._

The turbaned man turned further towards Professor Snape, almost leaning out of his - _JESUS FUCK! -_ his train of thought was derailed by the _searing pain_ coursing through his forehead - as if a red-hot needle had been thrust into his scar.

"Shit!" Harry gasped, clapping a hand to his head.

Draco turned towards him. "Harry?" he asked, "Are you alright?"

"It's fine, don't worry about me." Yet, for how severe it was, it went as quick as it came as if it was never there in the first place. What hadn't disappeared though, was this ever-present feeling of suspicion towards the man in purple. He didn't know _why_ , he looked afraid of himself, but the gut feeling was still there.

"Who's that one talking to Professor Snape?" he asked Blaise.

"Oh, him? He's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell. He doesn't seem very suited for it though. I mean, he looks scared of his own shadow for Merlin's sake!" he scoffed.

Harry pretended to laugh, still on edge from earlier. _Yeah, we_ _'re definitely keeping an eye on Quirrell._

_Really?! What gave that away? Was it the fact that he looks as if he's a damn junkie looking for his next hit? Or was it how he somehow looks 20 and 55 at the same time with all those wrinkles? Oh! Or was it the fact that the Voldy **curse-scar** , you know, the one that makes us stupidly famous, felt as if it was **on fire.**_

_...don't sass me._

_********_

Finally, the Opening Feast had ended, finishing with a rather ominous warning about the third-floor corridor, before it was somewhat overshadowed by an... interesting rendition of the school song. Unfortunately for Harry, he hadn't had a chance to even see Ron since he was Sorted, due to the length between each end of the Hall, and seeing how their prefects were leading them in the opposite direction of their own, it didn't seem likely to see him again today.

"You aren't missing Weasel already, are you?" scoffed Draco, as they were following the Prefects to their common room.

Harry flushed. "I'm not missing him, just... wanted to talk after the Sorting is all."

Draco smirked. "So you wanted to hear what he had to say about you being in Slytherin?"

"Well, that, and about him being in Gryffindor."

"And you felt bad because you couldn't talk to him, yes?"

"Yes?" Harry was confused, where was he going with this?

"Soooo, you missed him!" He finished, looking even more smug than usual.

Oh. "I...huh. I guess I did."

Draco's expression changed from smug to confused. "Wait, what do you mean by 'I guess?'. Did you not know what that meant?"

Harry's train of thought on how to respond to that was brought to a halt by a shriek at the front of the line from one of the girls, followed by a loud, otherworldly cackle coming from a portly, squat ghost, with wicked black eyes and an eccentric fashion sense, even by wizard standards. "Oooooooh! Little, ickle, firsties! What fun!" Before anyone could react, the male prefect stood forward, looking extremely annoyed. "Peeves, if you try anything at all with them, I'll have the Baron on your case so fast you'll be spinning your brains out of your ears!

The devilish ghost slowly wound down, his face turning into a frown, before sticking out his tongue and floating up into the ceiling without a sound. In turn, the prefects breathed a sigh of relief, before started to guide the group further down into the dungeon. "That was Peeves, Hogwart's resident poltergeist. He just floats about, causing chaos almost all the time, but if he's bothering you, just threaten him with the Bloody Baron and he'll float off somewhere else," said the female prefect.

By now, they had reached a long torch-lit staircase leading further down, afterwards walking through the dim corridors of the dungeon which twisted this way and that before finally stopping at a portrait of a large emerald-scaled adder, which itself was basking on a sunlit rock before it saw the oncoming group. It opened its mouth, similar to a yawn before taking in the group. " _Passsword?"_ it hissed, its eyes scanning the group as if searching for prey.

"Cauda Serpentis," the female prefect answered. The adder looked as disappointed as its long face could convey before the door swung open, revealing the Slytherin Common Room. The whole room was coated in a dark green light that seemed to leak in from the large coloured glass windows and lampshades, with an intricately patterned emerald and silver velvet rug leading from the door to a central fireplace. Surrounding that were multiple cushy-looking armchairs and sofas, loosely organised into circles with separate areas, the sofas and the comfiest looking chairs in one, another few chairs around a wooden table for study, with yet another set up for a board game Harry didn't recognise.

Although upon closer inspection of the window glass, it appeared that they _weren't_ coloured, instead, showing the murky depths of the lake they'd gone across not an hour ago! It made sense when he thought about how deep down the common room must be to require such a long staircase but to see it for himself? It gave off the incredibly odd feeling of being inside a fish-tank, put on display for whatever was lurking in the Great Lake. Harry was _enthralled_ with it, the pure magical majesty of it enough to make him stop in his tracks just to take it all in.

"As of now," Professor Snape started, seemingly coming from nowhere and making the whole group jump slightly, "you are all students of Slytherin House. This House will be your family in these walls, who you turn to for guidance and advice, who can, at times, become your greatest ally." He paused. "However, to ensure this House unity, you will subject to certain rules that are not standard to the rest of Hogwarts School. Firstly, if you plan to break the school's rules, and you are caught, you will be punished according to the severity of your transgression. If it is minor, you will have House Points deducted. If it is major, you will have detention with whoever the act concerned." _Isn't that just a regular rule? Why would he- Oh!_

"Secondly, as you may have found out, our House has a... less than stellar reputation. As such, no matter what you may have against someone in your house, you will keep your disagreements within the Common Room. Outside, if such an event is to occur, you will defend your housemates from other houses in a matter befitting a Slytherin."

"If any of you require further help navigating the castle, seek our new prefects, Mr Felix Rosier and Miss Gemma Farley," who were flanking either side of Snape. Gemma smiled and waved while Felix simply nodded. "They are willing and able to help you while you acclimate to life in Hogwarts." He turned towards the prefects. "I'm sure you can guide them to their new rooms?" They agreed in unison. "Good. If you require my skills, I shall be in my office." And with that, he walked through the entrance, cloak billowing behind him as he turned.

 _Okay, we're learning how to do that thing with the cloak,_ the Voice™ announced, every word coated in envy.

_Never thought you'd get jealous._

_I'm not, I, just- It's just so fucking cool!_

_Hmm. Fair enough._

********

After Snape's speech, the group was separated into boys and girls and shown their respective dorms. There was a pause in the conversation while everyone picked their beds, (which looked more luxurious than Harry had ever imagined beds could be!), and organised their belongings, with everyone's luggage being neatly organised in the middle of the room, assumedly brought up from the train.

Then, the chatting started up again, wondering about what the classes would be like, what they'd cover, and what they'd be able to do by years' end, before one rude comment from Draco was answered with a pillow to the face by Theo, devolving the whole thing into a tussle between the two while Harry and the others laughed at the sight of Draco's permanently slicked-back hair finally being ruffled, making him resemble a bewildered cockatiel.

Eventually, they all calmed down, tired from the day's events. Changing into a plain shirt and cotton shorts, ( _his_ shirt and shorts, a thought that just tied the ribbon on the second-best day of his life so far), placing his wand and glasses on the bedside table, and with a last "Night." to everyone, Harry laid on his bed, and for the first time, fell asleep with a lot more good than bad to dream about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author Trivia: I share a name with one of the Slytherins! Not telling who tho!


	9. Why does a half-giant want to talk to me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The staff reaction to the Sorting, and Harry's first week at Hogwarts. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo. kudos tripled.  
> hits are almost at 4000.
> 
> I genuinely don't know how to react to that. So... thanks? I guess?

The staff would normally talk amongst themselves if something particularly interesting had happened after a Sorting. A student being Sorted to a different house than expected, or a piece of gossip that was juicy enough for the teachers to keep tabs on, that sort of thing.

Though today... today was a special occasion. 

"So," started Pomona, fully aware that what just happened could _never_ be a good sign, "Has anyone ever seen the Hat laugh before?"

Everyone simultaneously turned to Minerva. After all, she'd been teaching the longest out of all of them. Unfortunately for them, she wasn't paying any attention, opening what looked like an expensive bottle of scotch from a drawer which none of them had seen before and then pouring into a wide glass, the bottle still firmly in her grasp while she shook her head in disbelief.

"I believe we can take that as a 'no'," Severus surmised in his signature drawl. "Though whatever it was, it must have been rather amusing."

"Severus, how can you be so calm!?" Filius asked, bewildered. "The Hat hasn't reacted like that in... well, ever! Not to mention he's in _your_ house!"

Upon hearing that, Minerva's head shot up towards her pint-sized peer. "What? But he's in Gryffindor, isn't he?"

Pomona took it upon herself to correct her friend, the shock of it all must have muddled her memory. "No dear, Potter's in Slytherin, he's under Snape's supervision, not yours."

Granted, that little tidbit was still a shock. Everyone assumed that he'd follow in his parent's footsteps, as had countless students before him. Even under the rare occasion where a student wasn't raised with their original parents like Harry was, it was only a minor change. The son of Hufflepuffs being placed in Gryffindor, or a daughter of Slytherins being sorted into Ravenclaw.

So why was Harry James Potter, the son of the two most Gryffindor-ish Gryffindors to ever Gryffindor, in _Slytherin?_ And more importantly, _why was the hat laughing?!_

Severus had an inkling as to why, the boy was interesting to listen to at worst and extremely amusing at best, and that smug little grin he had on his face showed that he must have had something to do with it. He may be a little biased towards Harry, considering the boy's poor home life and clear obsession with potions, both which he could sympathise with, but there was certainly something about him.

It was as if he'd managed to take all of his father's arrogance, and somehow moulded it into a sort of ineffable charisma. Then again, he supposed that James' friends would have seen him as charismatic as well, and he knew far too personally what that could rot into.

He'd have to keep an eye on him, both as he was his responsibility, and to finally pay Lily back for everything she'd done for him, even if it was decades late.

But for now, he'd rather stay silent. He couldn't remember the last time his coworkers had flown off the handle, if at all, and he certainly wasn't about to stop them. It was much more amusing to watch them flail like headless chickens for now.

********

Albus Dumbledore was, as per usual, in his office, contemplating this year's Sorting, as he did every year. Normally, it was his chance to review the new students now he could comfortably replay the memory in his head without disturbances. Normally, he would observe each student individually, for his first impression. How they behaved, how they reacted, how they viewed Hogwarts as a whole.

Were they eager to learn, as they walked in with a light heart and an even lighter mind? Were they studious, their eyes lighting up in recognition as they noticed every little thing they had read about? Were they confident and brash, taking it all in as if they owned it, paving their way as leaders of their little groups? Were they meek, and unsure, wondering how they had been invited to learn at such a magnificent institution? Or perhaps they were still taking it all in, still not used to the fact that everything they'd only dared to dream about in their wildest fantasies was real?

Those were how Dumbledore normally spent his evenings after the Sorting. Looking over the new year and wondering what they might do, who they may become, and to see the difference between fresh arrivals and those same arrivals after years of education, the making and, on occasion, breaking of bonds, and finding what their true calling was.

That was how it went _normally._ However, this year there was an... outlier. Harry James Potter.

Dumbledore had of course planned for his arrival, after all, he wouldn't have blocked off so many of the boy's talents if he didn't have plans for him. He needed him to be strong if Voldemort ever returned, no doubt, but not _that_ strong. He'd read the ancient classics, both muggle and magical, and almost every time the titular hero would try to better their masters, only to get struck down for their hubris. It simply wouldn't do for the boy to have such thoughts. 

And then there was the matter of the boy's family. While the Dursleys weren't the most hospitable folk, it would have to do. The blood wards placed by Lily in her final moments had affected the Dursley's, and while they weren't the only choice, the Evans and Potter bloodlines being spread quite wide, but the Dursleys were the least perilous choice. A muggle family would not know the boy's fame, nor could they possibly inform still active members of Voldemort's forces to his location.

The fact that their way of raising the boy would inevitably lead to him being much more receptive to Albus' suggestions was just a bonus.

After all, cultivating the boy into his protégé would be much easier if the boy was desperate for any kind of affection. And ultimately, he was the boy's magical guardian. Was it not his duty to care for him in place of his father? Add a bit of Amorfamilia into the mix, and the pieces would fall into place themselves.

But why had the boy gone into Slytherin? Even if it was purely for appearances, a Gryffindor saviour would go over with the public much more than if he came from Slytherin. He'd even made sure the boy wouldn't even go near that house, or the Head the first chance he had, so how-

Oh. Of course. How could he be so dull? He had sent Severus to collect the boy, hadn't he? He was the only one available at the time and-

He shook his head in exasperation with himself. If Severus took him from the Dursleys, then the boy would see him as the one to save him, the one to show him the magic he'd been hidden from his whole life. That compulsion, though powerful, would easily be damaged if the boy had seen it like that, which he clearly had! And once he learnt that Severus was the Head of Slytherin, that compulsion would just crumble into dust!

He started pacing again, calming himself before he spent too much time stating the obvious. Taking some comfort in that it was only the one compulsion, that everything else was still in place, and that the Plan. Would. Work _._

He stopped pacing, let out a deep sigh, and rested on his chair. It was a shame that he even had to come up with such a plan, particularly one that required such loss. At times, he regretted it all. But this wasn't about him and his whims anymore. It was all to stop Voldemort, one of the greatest threats he, and by extension, the Wizarding World had ever faced from coming back to power. And if he had to play the role of Chessmaster to see it done, then he would do whatever it took to prevail. Even if that did mean sacrificing a few pieces along the way.

********

Harry had learnt quite a lot by the next day. For starters, the beds were simply _wonderful_ , as if he was lying on clouds rather than a mattress. He couldn't understand what Draco was on about them being "-a bit too stiff for my liking". Honestly, if they were any softer you'd just sink right through!

"There, look!"

"Where?"

Secondly, the feast they'd had the night before seemed to be a standard affair in Hogwarts, with toast stacked up into miniature mountains accompanied by every spread he had ever seen, and a lot more he hadn't, seemingly unending supplies of cereals, porridge, and muesli, and more breakfast meats than he could count. If he didn't have classes, he'd most likely just sit there for the rest of his life, eating enough to sustain a small country.

Okay, maybe that was a bit over-the-top, but really, considering everything before this, who was going to judge him for it? No-one, that's who.

"Next to the one with his hair slicked back."

"Wearing the glasses?"

And finally, he had learned something very important about the other students. Something very, very, very important.

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his _scar!?_ "

That they wouldn't stop _following_ him!

Honestly, it was ridiculous! Whispers pestering him as soon as he'd brushed his teeth, people on their tiptoes just to get a glimpse of that bloody scar, and doubling back in the hallways to gawk at him some more! He felt like he was back at the zoo again, only on the completely _wrong_ side of the glass, brought here to stare at rather than, god forbid, talk to! Didn't they have anything better to do?! Yet unlike his scaly acquaintance, he had Draco to chat with, and although he was a bit stuck up at times, Harry knew he didn't anything by it most of the time. And even if he did, he and his dormmates could always knock him down a peg.

But even if Draco couldn't serve as a welcome distraction, the castle itself was more than enough to sidetrack his mind from that rather cramped feeling of being constantly watched and observed. And how could it not! After all, it seemed to be alive! The staircases would move from one platform to another depending on what day it was; whether it was dark or light outside; even seemingly at random. Some had vanishing steps in the middle that you had to remember to jump; others just led to dead ends.

After that, some doors wouldn't open unless you asked; doors that had both a doorknob and door-handle and wouldn't budge unless you picked the right one; doors that would change into a wall when you came close, but could still be pushed right through like normal. And that didn't even mention the portraits and paintings that would talk to themselves, move into other paintings and even shove their frame about, and the suits of armour which, even though he hadn't seen it yet, he swore they moved by themselves.

Ghosts that ranged from helpful to melancholy to just plain fun to look at would phase through walls, doors, and ceilings, and if you were lucky, you could convince Peeves to tell you about a secret passage if you gave him ideas for better pranks. Sure, hollering and hooting about getting people's 'conks' was all fine and dandy, but a marble slip and slide never went amiss, now did it? Maybe they weren't the most original, but considering the bombastic pranks that the Weasley Twins were famous for, Hogwarts had been lacking in the subtle stuff.

While all of this seemed as if should annoy him, as it did to Draco as they walked towards their classes, it only charmed Harry more and more to his new life. And he hadn't even mentioned the classes themselves. Which were... certainly something.

For starters, there was a lot more to casting a spell than just crying out 'Abracadabra!', tapping a hat with a plastic wand and pulling out bunnies. For each spell, there was its incantation, its wand movement, and you had to have the proper intent to have the spell work as you wanted it to. Mess any of those up and best case, nothing happens, maybe a puff of white smoke. Worst case...well, Harry didn't know what happened if you messed up that badly, and frankly, he didn't want to know.

Just in their first day, they'd been learning about magical plant life in a greenhouse behind the castle while trying very hard to not attract attention from what looked like a man-sized Venus flytrap with Professor Sprout, had learned the basics of charms as a concept and the beginnings of the Lumos Charm from Professor Flitwick, who Harry was convinced was a dwarf with a beard that large and a body that small, had unsuccessfully tried to stay awake in History of Magic with Professor Binns, who despite becoming a ghost just to continue teaching said every sentence describing the Goblin Rebellions of 1612 as if it was the dullest thing imaginable, and finally, began Transfiguration lessons the same tall and stern Professor McGonagall from the Sorting, which featured some of the most tricky and difficult schoolwork he'd ever had, magic or otherwise!

But no matter how much the oddity of having classes at midnight put a smile on his face every time he hiked up the Astronomy Tower, or how fascinating Defence Against the Dark Arts even when distracted by Quirrell's general incompetence and the sudden pain whenever Quirrell turned around, (which Harry had made so many excuses for he was already running out of ideas), Harry would have to insist that nothing, absolutely nothing in the entire world, beat Friday.

And not because it was so tantalisingly close to the weekend, or that he'd finally had a good dream that he could remember, (the details of which may or may not have included ice-cream snow angels) or even that he'd been able to properly thank Hermione for fixing his glasses, something that seemed to make her day enough that it was more than worth being late to the Breakfast Feast. Oh no, what made Friday completely unbeatable, was one thing, and one thing only.

**Double. Potions.**

However, his excitement for his favourite subject was slightly hampered by something he wasn't expecting. A letter addressed to him with handwriting bad enough that calling it chicken scratch may actually be a compliment. Then again, the last time he had a letter addressed to him he got a first-class ticket out of Privet Drive, so maybe this was the beginning of a pattern. As quick as he could, he tossed a piece of sausage towards Hedwig as a thank you and tore open the letter, which read:

_Dear Harry,_

_You probably don't know me, but ~~I've known you since you were little~~ I was a friend of your parents. _

_You might have seen a half-giant helping all the little ones get in the castle. That was me._

_I'm very sorry that I couldn't ~~be there when~~ talk to you sooner, and that this may seem a bit odd, but ~~if you'd like to come and talk~~ would you like to come and have a little chat with me after lessons are over?_

_Just to catch up is all. You can bring your friends if you'd like. Or not, I don't mind._

_Please send an answer on the back of this letter._

_Hagrid_

...Huh. That was a weird letter. I mean, how could someone even be a _half-_ giant? Still, he supposed he didn't have anything better to do today.

Just as he was about to write his reply, Draco questioned him. "Who's that letter from?"

"Hagrid. Why?"

His nose wrinkled in disgust. "What on earth does the groundskeeper want with you?"

Harry shrugged, not knowing himself. "A chat, apparently. Not sure about what, but he said I could bring friends. Wanna come with?

He shuddered at that. "Why in Merlin's name would I even consider that?!"

"Uh, because we've got the afternoon off and we also have nothing better to do?"

"I believe you're confusing 'us' with 'you', for a start. I could do hundreds of things without you."

 _Well you're rather stubborn today, aren't you?_ "Okay, but how many of those things could you do without being bored out your mind, all because you couldn't hear my lovely voice?"

"You do realise you sound like a warbling peacock most of the time, don't you?

"Well, _I_ have no idea what that sounds like, but thanks for the compliment!"

Draco didn't respond to that, simply sighing in defeat. 

"Tell you what, you come with me to see this Hagrid person, and I'll let you teach me that thing you're always playing with Blaise."

"That 'thing' is Wizard Chess and I still don't understand how you hadn't heard of it before."

 _Uh oh. Semi-personal question. Quick, lie!_ "My family just wasn't that big on board games."

Draco sighed again, though this time in frustration while mumbling under his breath. He did that a lot when they were brought up. "I suppose you're right. But let's just get through today first."

 _Fucking nailed it._ Harry wrote down his reply, a quick 'Will do.' and sent Hedwig off with a piece of bacon.

********

"You are here to learn the subtle science and the exact art of potion-making."

Did Harry mention he loved Potions? Because he did. He really, _really did._

"I don't expect you will fully understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..."

Oh, but he _did._ Not all of it, but by god did he want to! He wanted to learn everything he could about every ingredient that littered the walls of the classroom, wanted to know every detail, how to acquire them, how to use all of it properly, how to differentiate between good and bad ingredients, what their properties where so he could know by heart what to avoid and what to experiment with and best of all, how to make _his own potions._

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."

Harry was certain that if not for the self-control he'd learnt under the Dursleys, he'd have squealed out of sheer excitement because _oh my god that sounds so fucking cool!_

He could barely find the words to describe how excited he was anymore. Which only made what Snape said next feel like the second-worst case of whiplash he'd ever felt.

"Ah yes, Mr Potter. Our new... _celebrity._ "

**_Que?_ **

A few giggles came from the corners of the room, but Snape ignored them, focused entirely on Harry. "Tell me, Potter. What is the complete list of ingredients found in a Wit-Sharpening Potion?"

Harry, realising that he was being questioned and should probably say something, whacked the language centre of his brain back into English, (he blamed the telenovelas that would show up late at night. He couldn't entirely understand what they were saying, but it was the only thing on apart from people trying to sell you something and he only got that chance when they forgot to lock the cupboard, so he had to make the most of it.), and tried to piece together an answer.

"Scarab beetles, ginger roots, armadillo bile and, um..." _Oh, come on, think! It's newt something. Eyes? No, that's for ageing potions. So it must be..._ "Newt spleens. Sir." 

There it was again, that same little smirk that he saw at the Sorting, filled with pride, and gone just as quick as it came. "Correct, Potter."

"Next, Potter, where would you look if you were searching for a bezoar?"

Now Harry hadn't been caught off guard, he could see the reactions around the classroom. Draco looked rather pleased, though that seemed to be his default state out the dorms. Ron looked surprised that Harry could even answer the questions, looking a bit awed. Or was that envious? Either way, best to squash that as soon as possible.

"The stomach of a goat, Sir." 

The smirk didn't appear this time, but in fairness, that was a rather easy question. He must have been gauging him with that first one. "Correct."

"And lastly, Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

 _...Huh. There ain't many. Both are very purple, extremely poisonous, and hold on a tick,_ "Aren't they the same thing, Sir?"

No smirk again, simply a nod of approval. "Very good Potter, although it also goes under the name of aconite. Five points to Slytherin." He turned away from Harry, facing the rest of the class. "Well? Shouldn't you all be writing this down?"

There was a great scramble for parchment and quills after that, with Harry quietly setting up his cauldron. However, once he'd been told to light his cauldron fire, Harry had realised something rather important. He'd just been tested, in front of the whole class, got the questions right, and _not once_ been told he was cheating like he always was in his last school. And on top of that, he'd never even considered giving the wrong answer on purpose, as he'd always had to with Dudley!

It probably didn't say anything good about his life before this that he considered being called on in class and not being called a liar, (or a cheat, or an idiot, or whatever ever so creative name the teacher had for him that time), a personal victory, but quite frankly he couldn't care less about that. It was just yet another line on his rather long list of reasons to appreciate Hogwarts. 

********

After class had ended, narrowly avoiding burning his shoes off by almost stepping in Neville's potion, and before Harry could figure out which way led out of the castle, Ron had come up to them.

"Do you know how hard it's been trying to find you alone!?" he exclaimed to Harry.

"Do you need your eyes checked, Weasel?" responded Draco, sounding rather annoyed.

Ron just rolled his eyes at him. "I know you're here, it's just you're always hanging about with those other Slytherins and..."

"Wait, them lot?" Harry replied. "They're fine. If anything, Draco's the most uptight out of all of them."

"You both know I'm standing right here?!" Draco exclaimed.

Harry looked around them in mock surprise. "Ron, did you just hear something?"

"I dunno Harry, it might have been a ghost!"

Oh, poor Draco looked as if he was going to have a fit! "I'm right here! I'm standing in front of you!"

Neither Harry nor Ron could hold in their giggles any longer.

"I-it sounds a bit li- like Draco, doesn't it Ron?"

"M-maybe he's trying to tell us something?"

"I'M NOT DEAD, I'M STANDING RIGHT HERE FOR MERLIN'S SAKE!"

At this point, neither of them could hold it in anymore and just fell over themselves laughing, with Harry needing to cling to a nearby wall just to stay on his feet. 

After finally catching their breath, Harry tried to bring them all back to the subject. "What were you trying to ask again?" he asked Ron.

"Right, I was just going to ask how you knew all of that. I mean, even Percy couldn't have known all of that in his first year!"

 _And here it comes..._ "I just studied a lot, that's all. There's plenty on Potions in the Library after all." 

"Really? I haven't even been to the Library yet. Maybe you could help me study?" 

_Wait, what?_ Harry's train of thought completely froze at that proposal.

"You alright Harry?" asked Ron, looking rather concerned.

"Hold on a minute," answered Draco. "He does this occasionally. We don't know why yet, but the best idea has been a very subtle jinx."

"Wait, do you really want _my_ help with that?" asked Harry, completely bewildered.

"Well, yeah? Nobody else I know is as good as Potions as you, except maybe Draco, but we'd probably just argue the whole time." Draco nodded in agreement. "Not to mention I've been trying to talk to you for a week now, and it'd be a good way to meet up," Ron explained.

"Yeah, that makes... sense. It's just that no-one's ever asked me for help before, that's all."

Both of them paused for a minute, Ron and Draco looking at each other, then back to Harry, in sheer disbelief.

"Are you seriously telling us this is the first time some asked you to study with them?" Draco questioned.

"Well, yeah? T-that ain't weird, is it?" _Oh, good lord, we're stuttering again._

"Don't be stupid, Potter. Anyone with working ears could tell you're smart." snarked Draco.

"It wouldn't be such a stretch to think anyone asked you for help with work before you came to Hogwarts," Ron concluded.

"So why would _now_ be the first-ever time you've been asked that?" Draco probed.

"W-what is this, an interrogation?!" Harry pointed out. "I just wasn't that social at the time, so nobody asked! And I froze because I just wasn't used to people asking me for anything, let alone to help them study, alright?"

They both paused, and for just a moment, Harry thought they had stopped pressing him. Until...

"Potter. Not social? You somehow managed to get me and Weasel here to find common ground, I seriously doubt you weren't 'social' before Hogwarts."

_Wow, they really aren't falling for it anymore, are they?_

_NOT. HELPING._

"Well, I wasn't, okay? Then I was. Get over it."

They didn't seem to like that answer, but Harry wasn't exactly eager to give them his life story right about now. Or ever really.

"Now, are we going to Hagrid's, or are we just going to stand here and stare at each other till our eyes fall out?"

"Wait, you two are headed to who? What for?" Ron questioned.

"Hagrid's the groundskeeper, he sent a letter to Harry to come to his hut after class. I'm going with him because, as he helpfully pointed out, I don't really have anything better to do today." Draco answered.

"Oh. Can I come with you?"

"Sure. The more the merrier, and all that." agreed Harry.

And so, after finally managing to get them off of that uncomfortable subject, the three of them made their way outside the castle, and towards the large ramshackle groundskeepers' hut near the borders of the so-called 'Forbidden Forest'.

_Hopefully, whoever this 'Hagrid' person is doesn't have any more uncomfortable questions for me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh... so. Let me explain why I haven't updated this in months.  
> Since the quarantine was enacted, I was struggling to find any motivation to get up in the morning, let alone write. Then, when I finally got around to continuing the chapter, not only do I have my first encounter with the dreaded Writer's Block, (honestly those last few scenes took fucking forever to finish), I also get saddled with back-to-back ear infections. 2/10 - Would not recommend. Then college came back and started kicking my ass yet again!
> 
> But honestly, I'm just thankful most of you have stuck around this long. Hopefully, I won't take this long for the next one, but don't hold your breath.


End file.
